Colorblind
by lazysunday30
Summary: "She hadn't wanted to get attached, and she knew that the feelings could grow, if given time and inclination, so she'd nipped it in the bud. It wouldn't do to fall for a girl nearly half her age, someone who'd likely never return her feelings. And then Andrea had left." What happens when she returns, and in a way Miranda had never foreseen?
1. Chapter 1

_A big thank you to my wonderful beta -** Delilah Moon** - for all her help. _

_This first chapter is a prologue of sorts... enjoy. _

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"…That's all."

Miranda lowered her eyes back to the spreads in front of her and dismissed the harried second assistant with little more than a wave of her fingers. The spread was Dolce, and it was, as were most things that surrounded the fabled Editor-in-Chief, imperfect.

No, no. This wouldn't do at all. The Dolce wouldn't do. Neither would the Donna Karan. Nor the Yves Saint Laurent. It didn't matter how many times the layout was re-worked; they could do fifty re-shoots and find hundreds of different models and still the spread would remain imperfect. Because when Miranda Priestly has her mind set on something – a certain something – everything else pales in comparison.

And so it was on this Thursday afternoon that found the Dragon Lady in her lair, once again hoping that against all odds her underlings would uncover enough information on the designer she actually wanted for this spread. The designer whose work had made quite the splash during Paris Fashion Week five years ago. The designer who remained utterly and irritatingly illusive.

Miranda looked up, acknowledging Nigel's presence. "Anything?" The man gave a quick head shake, confirming what Miranda already knew to be true. Once again, she would remain in the dark. Once again, this designer, whose work had been coveted in recent years, would remain anonymous, disallowing any publication to publish her work.

"Well, it's to be expected I suppose," said Miranda, looking past Nigel.

"Yes, however I can say that it does not deter my – I don't know – giddiness, at seeing the newest line in Paris." Nigel was practically bubbling with excitement.

"Another year wasted, I should think."

Nigel chuckled, "You don't really mean that, Miranda. Come on, you know the work is impeccable. Eliza Elisabeth, whoever she may be, never fails to disappoint." Miranda had to hum her agreement at that.

Dismissing Nigel after going over the layout for another piece, Miranda turned her thoughts back to Paris. Paris, which held so many memories. Paris, where seven years prior her most competent assistant had walked out on her. As always when her mind turned toward Paris, Andrea Sachs butted her way into Miranda's stream-of-consciousness.

Obviously Miranda harbored a soft-spot for the girl who'd walked out on her. Fully expecting herself to blacklist Andrea from publishing when she returned to New York, Miranda had done quite the opposite, instead writing a recommendation of all things. Because as much as it pained Miranda to admit it, she wanted to see Andrea succeed. She had followed her former assistant's progress in that rag the _Mirror_ until suddenly, eight months after her first article had been published, no more seemed to come. At first Miranda had thought perhaps the girl had moved onto greener pastures, after all, her writing was more than passable. But after much searching, she had to conclude that Andrea Sachs had simply vanished from the face of the Earth. What other possible explanation was there?

Running her fingers through the short hair at the nape of her neck Miranda sighed, willing herself to forget Andrea. She had no claim to the other woman, yet the other woman had such a hold over her. Miranda dared not examine further the whys and the how's.

No, her time was better suited to rolling her eyes at the incompetence of her staff, furthering her impatience with this relatively new, unknown designer working under the label Eliza Elisabeth. Who was this woman to hide in the shadows, to remain out of reach to even those highest on the fashion food chain? No name, no face, only the clothes. The magnificent, awe-inspiring art that this _Eliza Elisabeth_ dared to display in London, Paris, Milan and every other major fashion hub in the world except New York. _The nerve._

Miranda huffed under her breath. This was the year. She would pull teeth if she had to – maybe even if she didn't have to – but this year she would gain an audience with the woman (or man – who knows?) who had evaded the fashion industry's heavyweights for the last five years. Clenching her fist in her lap, Miranda was almost tempted to send up a prayer that she finally meet this designer – but then, if Miranda Priestly couldn't achieve the seemingly-impossible, then God had no hope.

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_TBC... I love me some reviews... let me know what you think and if you'd like to read more._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to my beta, **Delilah Moon**_

_Enjoy!_

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Nigel was having one of those days. Not one of _those_ days, where Miranda Priestly made _Runway_ a living hell-on-earth. No, he was having one of those days where his feelings violently conflicted. He wasn't used to having these kinds of days. And yet here he was, strolling down the sidewalk near Elias-Clark hoping to make some sense of the turmoil going on underneath his skull.

On the one hand, Nigel was, for the first time in a long time, excited for Fashion Week. A week that usually brought thoughts of nails on a chalkboard brought him a sort of inner whimsy – the designers were said to have pulled out all the stops this year. However it was one designer in particular he was most interested to see - Eliza Elisabeth. That was what brought on the conflicting emotion of Miranda's utter displeasure at having almost less than no information on said designer. Because when Miranda wasn't happy, Nigel wasn't happy. Or he wasn't supposed to be. Hence the strolling – he really needed to clear his head.

Of course one might argue that Nigel was in a rather odd place – compassion for the woman who'd very effectively screwed him over not seven years ago? What one would be unable to argue was Miranda's repayment of the grief she'd caused him. Oh, she'd more than repaid her debt to him. And thank God for that.

Checking his blackberry to make sure he didn't have any scared-to-death messages from Emily, who although no longer worked directly under Miranda still sought to silently do her bidding, Nigel turned the corner and started looking for a quiet place to dine - a deli, perhaps. It'd been a long time since the fashion director had enjoyed roast beef.

Entering the deli – a cute little establishment, it had a few tables lined up against the windows – Nigel spotted a dress by the designer who'd been on his mind just moments before. The woman was tall but not model tall, slender but with curves, and had shoulder-length dark brown hair. And she wore that dress as it was truly intended to be worn.

"Excuse me?" Nigel tapped the woman – who, coincidentally, was also ordering roast beef – on the elbow. Hoping to converse with someone besides Miranda about the designer, Nigel was shocked to find the face of Andrea Sachs directly in front of him.

"Nigel?"

"Andy?" Her face broke out in a huge grin. _She'd always had a nice smile,_ thought Nigel.

"Oh my – Nigel! What are you doing here?"

"Well I do live in the city, or had you forgotten?" he teased.

Andy turned around when the guy behind the counter passed her the sandwich. "No, I mean – a deli?" she laughed.

"You know, I've been dying for a little roast beef?"

"Well, you came to right place," she smiled at him. It was good to see him again. "Do you have time to sit?" He nodded.

Both sat unwrapping their roast beef sandwiches in the corner table by the large window. Nigel examined the young woman in front of him while she picked up a stray piece of meat. _She looks good._ _Obviously hasn't completely lost the sense of style I'd hammered into her little head._

"So…" said Andy, taking a bite out of her sandwich, "how are you? I mean, you look good."

"Oh fine, you know… Paris is in a week and everyone is a little on edge."

"A little?" she raised an eyebrow, he smiled. "How's Emily?"

"Promoted to accessories, actually," Nigel took a bite out of his own sandwich. Damn was it good.

"Hey! Good for her!" exclaimed Andy, genuinely pleased. _She'd always been genuine about everything though, hadn't she?_ "It must be good for her – to get out from under…"

"Well, yes. Of course, everyone is technically under her rule, but yes," Nigel replied, nodding his head slowly. "But you know she still tries to cater to her every whim."

Andy snorted. "What does that mean?"

"Well," Nigel shook his head in amusement, "you know this designer – Eliza Elisabeth," Andy's eyes went wide, "Oh, Six – you must have heard of her – you're wearing her dress for god's sake!"

"Oh yeah, yeah, right," and nodded slowly giving a brief smile before diving back into her lunch.

"What you might _not_ know, is that this Eliza Elisabeth is unknown. I mean, obviously her clothing is very well known – has been since it debuted in Paris five years ago – but nobody knows who the designer is. The woman, I mean. No one can get a name, an address, a phone number, anything," Nigel took another bite. "It's amazing really. And of course it's frustrated _her_ to all hell."

Andy smiled slowly, taking it all in. "So… Emily?"

Nigel nodded, flapping his hand up and down a few times. "Oh well, you know since Eliza debuted five years ago, _she's_ been trying to find out who this woman is. Obviously it would be great for the magazine – Eliza hasn't been published anywhere – but by now, I swear to god Andy, it's like she takes it personally, especially since this designer has never shown at Fashion Week in New York. She has the staff practically break their necks trying to find out anything about this designer. So far, nothing. But Emily – I mean my god the girl is relentless in her efforts to please the woman – well, you remember."

Andy nodded, "Yeah, yeah I do."

"So anyway, what have you been up to? I tried to keep up with your articles in the _Mirror_ but they disappeared after what – eight months?"

"Yeah, you know how those things go… apparently journalism wasn't really for me."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Well it was great at first – I got the shitty pieces but I was new and that was what was expected. But then – god this sounds ridiculous…" she trailed off, hoping Nigel would let it drop. Of course, he didn't, being Nigel and all. "Well you know I kept thinking about Paris," at this Nigel looked at Andy, mouth agape. "No, no – not what happened. The city, I mean. I kept thinking about the city. Nate and I tried to make it work after he moved to Boston but it wasn't really what I wanted, and I didn't really have anything else tying me down here," except of course, that woman, "so I quit my job, found a tiny apartment in Paris, and well… here I am."

"Yes," Nigel nodded slowly, looking her up and down, "here you are, better looking than ever, if I might add." Andy gave him a sheepish grin. He looked at his watch and exclaimed at the time, begging off but making Andy give him her number before he left. "Clearly there is much more to this story. Drinks soon, yes?"

"Anytime," she smiled.

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_TBC... Let me know your thoughts on this_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to my beta **Delilah** **Moon**_

_Thanks to all of you who have reviewed so far... Read on!_

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It was two days later that found Nigel in his office, red pen in hand, marking the hell out one of the Versace layouts. A nervous tapping on the glass door brought Nigel out of his red haze.

Emily stepped in, looking more than a little guilty. "What have you done this time?" said Nigel, turning back to the layout.

"Nothing," Emily hastily replied, but then, "Well, not nothing, per se, but…"

"Would this have something to do with Miranda?" Emily nodded. "Would this be one of those things you maybe weren't supposed to be doing for Miranda, and if she finds out she'll lock you in your office until you do your _actual_ job?" Dear lord that girl needed to learn boundaries.

Emily hesitated, "I don't… I don't think she'd really be _mad_ about this one though…" Nigel turned around and stared.

"And just what have you done?"

"It's possible that I've found the phone number of Eliza Elisabeth." Emily stood there stock-still, unable to really believe it herself. Eyes wide, she looked at Nigel for help.

"Really? You really found the elusive designer's number?" Emily nodded again. "Well for god's sake, why aren't you running for Miranda's office?"

"It just seems like – you know she's been on about me doing my job and not her assistant's for the last few weeks, so I thought maybe you could take it to her?" She passed over a piece of paper with a number scribbled on it. Nigel squinted. No. This couldn't be right.

"I think you've got the wrong number, Em," and he turned back to the layout.

"No. No actually I'm quite sure that it's the correct number."

"Well how did you get it?" What the hell was going on?

"Some paperwork. All the designers have to fill out massive amounts of paperwork to be able to show at any of the Fashion Weeks. I have a contact at _British Runway_, who faxed over all the paperwork Eliza has ever filled out for the London shows. It's taken me weeks to get through, but this is it." _She sure as hell looks sure of herself._

"Have you tried calling it?" At this Emily looked positively aghast.

"No! You know Miranda would kill me if she found out I contacted her first!" _True._

"Well, I can't take that number to Miranda," Nigel replied. Something was wrong here.

"And why would that be?" Indignant Emily was the hardest Emily to deal with.

"I really think you've got the wrong number there – this is a mistake." Yes, yes that's what this was. A mistake.

"Well if you don't take it to her, I will. If she finds out I had this and it didn't get to her… I don't even want to think about it," said Emily, adding a dramatic flair by bringing her hand up to cover her eyes.

Nigel stared at the red-head warily. If this wasn't a mistake… "Let me make a call first. Sit." She did. He pulled out of his wallet the scrap of sandwich wrapping paper that Andy had scribbled her number onto and placed it next the one Emily had dropped in front of him. They were the same.

He dialed. "_Hello?"_

"Why, hello dear girl," Nigel replied, careful to tailor his answers so Emily wouldn't suspect.

"_Nigel? What's going on? Need a drink already?"_ He heard her laugh.

"Well, you know how it is…" Andy confirmed that she did indeed know how it was. "So I was thinking we would grab that drink before I jet off to Paris, but, once again, you know how open my schedule is right now."

"_As in, not at all. It's fine Nigel, don't worry, we'll catch up after and you can tell me how it went."_

"Well I was wondering, as you live there now and all, if you'd be there? It'd be fun to get together. I have some rather juicy information I think you might enjoy…" he sounded enticing even to himself. And boy did he have juicy information.

"_Actually, I will be there. I have a, uh… friend who's showing some of her new pieces."_

"Oh really? Anyone I know?"

"_Doubt it. Listen – are you sure you won't be too busy? I know how packed your schedules are…"_

"Don't you worry, sweetheart – I'll call you when we land."

"_Alright…" _she sounded hesitant, "_if you're sure."_

"I am. Ciao." He hung up.

"Well?" Emily gave him and incredulous look. "Who the bloody hell was that?"

Nigel countered with his own pointed stare. "A friend." He picked up the slip of paper with Andy's number written on it and shoved it back into his wallet. _Who would have guessed? Certainly not me…_ "We should wait until Paris to give the number to Miranda."

"No. No way," Emily was standing now. "She gets this today. One way or another. It can either be me or you, but she gets this today." He was not going to win this, obviously.

"Fine. I'll do it," and he snatched up the slip of paper. "Go back to work Emily." She gave him a look but scurried off. No doubt she was behind on her assignments, having spent so much time rifling through all that paperwork.

Making his way over to Miranda's office, Nigel wasn't quite sure what to expect. Obviously he'd have to tell her who Eliza Elisabeth was before she made the call or she'd hang him when Andy Sachs of all people picked up the phone. No. This couldn't end well. He just wasn't sure how badly it would unfold, or in what manner.

Not stopping at the assistants' desks – he'd long ago stopped needing to be announced – Nigel entered the inner sanctum. Miranda looked up at him, waiting. He did nothing.

"Well?" she drawled out.

"This," he held up the slip of paper Emily had given him, "is the number for Eliza Elisabeth." Miranda stared up at him, shocked. And then she held her hand out, waiting. "There's more," he continued, pulling out his wallet and removed the second piece of paper. "This is the number of an old friend of ours." He laid them side by side in front of her. They were identical.

"To which friend are you referring?" Miranda didn't touch either slip of paper.

At this point Nigel started shifting from one foot to the next. "Well, you know, 'friend' might be too loose a term…" She raised an eyebrow, waiting. "Andy Sachs."

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_TBC... reviews are my lifeblood (hint hint)_


	4. Chapter 4

_Once again many thanks to my beta, **Delilah Moon**_

_I know this one's a little light on the dialogue, but stick around... _

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Andy glanced down at the sidewalk as she made her way through the sea of people. _New York, how I've missed you,_ she thought, amusing herself. Turning left at the corner she kept walking, seeing her hotel in the distance. Her hotel - The Four Seasons. Where she had a room. It still stunned her.

It had been five years and still she was unused to having this much money. In fact, she could probably afford to get a small apartment in New York soon – if she wanted it. And did she? Did she want a permanent residence in the city Miranda dominated? Andy shook her head, hoping to rid herself of these musings.

Making her way through lobby and into the elevator, she knew it was only a matter of time before Miranda found out what she'd been up to for the past five years – especially after seeing Nigel today. He hadn't asked too many questions about her current employment over lunch because he'd had to get back to the office, but still… Andy felt that change was coming.

It was the same feeling she'd had a few weeks before deciding to leave the _Mirror._ Something in her life was out of place; an adjustment needed to be made.

Quite the adjustment apparently, as a little over a year later, living in Paris, she anticipated the show that would make or break her non-career in fashion. Which turned out to be quite the career, not that anyone knew it was her. No. At the shows she pretended to be an assistant – something she was good at – she'd had quite the practice, after all. She never came out on the runway at the end of a show to receive the thunderous applause, instead peeking out from backstage to see the faces of those in the audience filled with awe and wonder at what they'd just seen. There was no greater feeling – of this Andy was convinced.

Miranda hadn't attended her first show in Paris – her label wasn't well-known and she'd received minimal press – but the Dragon Lady had been to every single one after that, always inquiring after the designer, trying to make her way backstage to see if she could catch the woman behind Eliza Elisabeth. She'd failed every time. Andy had made sure of it.

Thinking about Miranda Andy felt her heart flutter in her chest, but pushed the feeling away quickly, as always. Miranda was married, for God's sake. Or re-married, really. For the fourth time. _This is a mess,_ thought Andy, _I'm a fucking mess._ But as always, she steeled herself against anything Miranda-related and kept going, Miranda wasn't part of her life anymore. _She was never part of my life, _Andy reminded herself, _at least not how I wanted her to be. _

Pushing the door to her room open Andy flung her purse – Prada – onto a nearby chair and made her way onto the bed, searching for the TV remote. Flicking off her heels she pushed herself up the bed so she was leaning against the headboard and started searching for something to watch. _Casablanca._ That would do just fine.

Caught up in the movie she almost missed the phone call from Nigel. After she'd hung up, she wished she'd missed the phone call from Nigel. _He knows,_ she thought, very little doubt in her mind.

Picking up the phone she'd just forcefully tossed aside, Andy hit speed dial one.

"_Eliza Elisabeth Designs, how may I help you?"_

"Monica it's me," Andy didn't wait for a reply. "I need you to put me on the first flight back to Paris for tomorrow morning, and I want the models ready and waiting for me at the studio at eight – tell those who actually eat that they should do so before they arrive – it's gonna be a long night." Andy stood, pacing at the foot of the bed.

"_No problem. I'll have the designs that are going to walk brought over as well. Anything else?"_ The voice was patient, and for that Andy was grateful.

"No, I –" she paused, chewing her lip. "Miranda Priestly is scheduled to be at the show?" She sounded hesitant.

"_Yes. Front row, center, as always."_

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, Monica."

"_Good night, Andy,"_ she replied, and hung up. _Thank god for that woman,_ thought Andy. She'd met Monica at a café when she'd first moved to Paris. Seeing that the other woman was having trouble ordering her food in a foreign tongue, Monica had stepped in to offer her assistance. She'd pretty much been assisting Andy since then, helping her break into the fashion industry and then getting her designs into stores. Monica knew something of Andy's past, although not all of it, and had been instrumental in helping Andy herself stay below the radar, acting as a go-between for anyone interested in the designer.

Andy sighed and started packing her things. She needed to get out of New York. She needed to be out-of-reach of the world right now. Out-of-reach of Nigel. Of what was surely going to be a shit-storm when Miranda found out.

She had a week and a half before her show, and she'd always been a perfectionist. Andy started re-working some of the designs in her head as she headed out again, looking for dinner.

Instead of dinner, though, she found herself in the Park with her sketchbook on her lap and pencils behind both ears and in her hand. She watched as an elderly lady made her way past in a long coat and large hat. A toddler in a striped pair of corduroys caught her attention for a moment, however she was drawn away from the sandy-haired boy by two red-heads moving at a leisurely pace. If Andy hadn't known better she would have them pegged for – they turned, shifting their faces into the light. Cassidy and Caroline Priestly. Christ.

_That's what I get for staying on the Upper East Side, I suppose._

The girls didn't notice her, or if they did they didn't recognize her, making their way along slowly. Andy took in their outfits – one girl in patterned jeans, biker boots and a thin cotton t-shirt, the other in a below-the-knee striped skirt, flats, and a silk tank top. Andy dragged her eyes away from the girls who'd been all of eleven when she'd known them and started sketching, hastily putting her ideas down on paper.

She worked until the light became inadequate and then quickly made her way back to the hotel to continue, only stopping when she realized she had to get to the airport. She pulled out her phone as she got into the taxi, for the first time seeing that she had two missed calls made within minutes of each other– both from the same number.

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_TBC_

_I love it when you review!_


	5. Chapter 5

_As always, many thanks to **Delilah Moon** for being an awesome beta_

_I've gotten a couple of requests for longer chapters... unfortunately I just tend to write shorter chapters, but I've combined two chapters here, so you all have something more than 1,000 words to read. Hope it lives up!_

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Miranda sat in her study at home, flipping through dozens of photographs. Because Eliza Elisabeth had never had her work captured for a photo shoot, the best Miranda could get her hands on were images of past shows.

Miranda was finding it hard to wrap her mind around the fact that Andrea Sachs – the silly girl – was behind the designs spread before her. After Nigel had left her office that afternoon, Miranda had found it increasingly hard to focus on anything, and had gone home early, surprising her staff. Oh, well, she could always show up at the office at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning and give them all a good scare.

Of course, the easy thing to do would be to dial the number that sat at the edge of her desk. Miranda realized this. She also reckoned that Nigel could have made a mistake. She called him up.

"Where did you get this number anyway?" she barked down the phone.

"_You haven't called yet?" _Nigel sounded astounded. Rolling her eyes, Miranda let out a sigh, signaling her impatience. She had asked a question, after all, and she expected and answer. Nigel got the hint. _"Emily had a contact at _British Runway_ who sent over all the paperwork Eliza Elisabeth filled out for the London shows. Apparently a personal cell-phone number was hastily jotted down on one of the papers. Emily showed me the fax. It's her number."_

There was a long silence and Miranda knew that Nigel was contemplating hanging up, unsure whether he was still needed. "Do you know where she's staying?" He didn't. She hung up.

Going to the kitchen for a glass of wine Miranda heard the front door open and thud shut. The girls were home. She called out to them.

"Mom?"

"Hey mom… what are you doing home so early? Isn't Paris in like, a week?" They each grabbed a piece a fruit and sat on the stools next the island, throwing their bags across the pristine surface.

Miranda smiled. She couldn't believe how old they were. "Yes, well, I was a bit distracted at the office and thought I could work better from home." She watched as her girls gave each other a sideways look, as if to say _Mom? Distracted? Since when?_

Seemingly taken advantage of their mother's professed distraction, the girls charged on, intent on getting what they wanted, which was to go to Paris with their mother. She saw this attack coming from a mile away.

"Please?" Caroline was practically begging now.

"Absolutely not. You two will be applying to colleges in the spring and need to start preparing your applications. You have many essays to write, I believe." Oh yes, they most certainly did. Miranda had done her research a few years ago, wanting her daughters to go to the best possible colleges. Paris Fashion Week wouldn't interrupt with their schooling, she would see to that.

The girls pouted, knowing a lost cause when they saw one, and told their mother about their afternoon in the park with friends. _Oh, to be young again._

Miranda made her way back to her study after dinner with her daughters to work on the Book. She really needed to snap out of whatever was happening. Paris was in less than a week.

However the temptation to call the number Nigel had bestowed upon her was too tempting. Dialing, she held the phone to her ear only to hear four rings and then –

_You've reached Andrea Sachs, leave message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. _

Miranda heard the telltale _beep_ and hung up, only to call back immediately. She got the same response. Obviously Andrea was not near her phone right now. Or… was she screening her calls? No, that would be ridiculous. She probably didn't even recognize the number, especially since Miranda had used the landline.

_But what happens if she calls back?_ The niggling voice of her subconscious broke through, and Miranda had a hard time getting any work done after that.

Lying in bed that night, Miranda thought on this new, very startling information. Who knew Andrea had that kind of talent? The girl Miranda remembered had no sense of style or fashion, wouldn't know cerulean from robin's egg if it mugged her in an alleyway, and _didn't care about fashion._ That was what really got to Miranda – apparently she'd been wrong. Apparently the girl had actually learned something while working at _Runway_.

What's more was, Miranda didn't know what she'd say to Andrea. Didn't know what she wanted to say. Mostly it was something along the lines of _what_ with multiple questions marks and _why did you leave me in Paris_ and she definitely wanted to know why Andrea had never shown her work in New York. That was intriguing. Should she be insulted? Was it even about her?

As Miranda pondered the last question she knew the answer right away – _yes._ She just didn't know why.

She felt the bed dip then as Lucas, her husband of four years, settled in under the covers. Miranda shut her eyes tight. Lucas was a good man, a good father. She'd finally found someone who didn't mind her work, who cared for her, although maybe didn't love her, and who made sure to threaten the girls' prospective boyfriends and bestow upon them thoughtful birthday gifts. Miranda sighed silently. _What am I doing?_

The next morning found her at the office bright and early, a buzz of activity around her. Working through most of the morning Miranda stunned her assistants once again as she made her way out of her office at a leisurely pace, not requesting her coat or bag, and continued down the hallways to Nigel's domain.

Not stopping to knock on the door Miranda pushed her way into his office, making her presence known with a light cough.

Nigel spun around, surprise evident on his face. "Miranda… what can I do for you?"

She shifted slightly in her heels, picking up a stray layout and fiddling with it to keep her hands busy. "You're… in touch with her?"

"She did give me her number."

"Yes, I suppose she did," Miranda spoke softly. "Perhaps you could… set up a meeting." This of course was a request and not a question.

Nigel stared back for a moment, looking unsure. "I called her yesterday, after Emily came to me. I asked her if she'd be in Paris and if she'd like to get a drink while we're over there. She said she would, but…" he trailed off, not sure how to put it.

"But?" Miranda urged, her voice stronger than before.

"Well, she seemed a little spooked." Nigel caught her eyes. "I think she knows that I know."

Miranda did not look happy at this information. Putting down the layout she stood up straight and glared at him. "Set up drinks. Make sure she's there. Do not tell her I will be." And with that she turned on her heel and left.

* * *

Andy unlocked her door and made her way into her apartment. She smiled as she entered – it was a great space. The door opened up to a spacious room where Andy worked most of the time. There was a large work table in the middle cluttered with sketches and fabrics, and a few mannequins in various places around the room, some half-dressed. Andy's favorite aspect of her apartment though was the floor-to-ceiling window spanning the front wall. She'd set up a plush leather chair and a portable desk directly behind the large table in the middle of the room so she could have as much natural light as possible to work from during the day.

As it stood, Andy didn't often have visitors, and as such her apartment wasn't quite set up for entertaining visitors, instead it was an extension of her studio downtown. Off to the right of the door was a small kitchen, and to the left, down a short hall, her bedroom. Although most nights Andy fell asleep in her chair, working.

Pulling out her cell once again Andy eyed the number that had called her twice and left no message. _Probably Nigel's landline_, she mused, and pressed a button to return the call.

She thought she'd receive no answer as the phone rung and rung, but then a groggy _"Hello?"_ made its way to Andy.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"_What?_" The voice was confused, probably due to the early hour. _"You called me!"_

"I, uh, received a few calls from this number yesterday…?" she trailed off. This was definitely not Nigel.

"_Um I doubt it,"_ and the voice sure did sound as if she doubted it. _"Wait. Are you mom's new assistant?"_

"What?" Andy felt dread in her chest.

"_You know you're not supposed to call the house phone. I mean Jesus - Caroline and I are sleeping! And mom already left, you should know –"_ Andy hung up.

_Caroline and I. _Caroline and Cassidy. Priestly. Shit.

Miranda had called her last night. Miranda knew. Nigel had figured it out some how and Miranda _knew._ Shit.

After a short nap Andy made her way down to the studio. The models wouldn't be in for a few hours but she had a lot of work to do. She'd had a stroke of inspiration yesterday in the Park and had to get started right away if she wanted these new pieces to be showcased during the show.

Her studio, much like her apartment, was light and lofty, sparsely decorated but for all the tables and mannequins. Large corkboards hung on the walls where various fabrics and sketches were pinned. Opening the door and making her way in, Andy was not surprised to see Monica working at her desk. Monica, who made all this possible, who was born in Paris but grew up in Brooklyn and learned French from her father, who had light mocha skin and a bouncing, curly afro, and who was the only person on the planet Andy trusted.

"Hey," Monica smiled, "I'm surprised to see you here this early."

"Yeah, I know. Before I left I started working on some new designs." Andy pulled out her sketchbook and handed it over. "They need to get into this show."

Flipping through the pages Monica's eyes widened. "This is gonna be a lot of work, Andy, but…" she stopped at one particular gown, the fabric meant to be ethereal with light blues and silvers. "These are beautiful."

"Yeah?" Andy was uncertain. She always was when it came to her work, but she was especially worried about these new ones. They were more personal somehow.

Monica laughed, "Yeah. Wow, Andy, these are… you're right. These need to get into the show next Thursday. You have a little over a week… I say get to it."

Andy chuckled, "Yes, boss," an inside joke between the two woman. "I'm hoping to have at least one ready by the time the models get here." Monica nodded and went back to her work, Andy walking away to look for fabric.

An hour or so later Monica sidled up to Andy's work station with a mug of tea and started asking about New York – Andy had been there less than a week. She rarely went back to the states, but when she did it was to Ohio to see her parents, and when she stopped in New York it was usually for at least a couple of weeks. She had kept in contact with Lily and Doug – they were her oldest friends, after all.

"Did you get what you went there for?" Monica took a seat across the table, making sure not to invade Andy's space. They often talked while she worked, Andy finding the distraction soothing.

"What do you mean?"

"Well you weren't there for very long, and you came back early." Andy shrugged and there was a long silence. "So, Miranda Priestly?"

Andy's head shot up at that. "What? Did she call?"

Monica gave her a questioning look. "No. But you asked about her yesterday. Didn't you work for her?"

"I was just her assistant, it wasn't even for a year." Andy bent her head back to her work.

"She fire you? I hear she has a reputation for that," Monica sounded amused.

Andy opened her mouth, about to confirm, but held back. She should just tell Monica the truth. Or as much of the truth as she felt she could. The woman was her best friend, after all – a little honesty wouldn't kill her. "No," Andy let out a sigh, "I quit."

"Really?" Monica drew the word out, obviously interested in what happened.

Andy nodded and continued to work. "Yeah I, uh, walked out on her during Paris Fashion Week seven years ago."

Monica whistled. "Jesus. You walked out on the Dragon Lady without so much as goodbye? What the hell happened?" Monica started laughing a little, "What did she do? Did she eviscerate you with her words? Call your parents to tell you how bad a job you were doing? Make you wash her feet?" She was on a roll and the laughing got louder as she went. "Did she make you watch her devil spawn children? Lock you in her basement and torture you – or wait! Did she do weird sex stuff to you? Were you guys sleeping together?!" At this Monica started tearing up from laughing so hard but stopped when she saw Andy's face. "Holy shit."

"No!" Andy held up her arms palms out, as if to stop – what? "We were _not_ sleeping together."

Monica looked at her then, at the woman she had been close friends with for the past six years. "But you… have feelings for her?"

"No! Don't be ridiculous!" Andy's eyes were wide and her mouth formed a frown. _Shit. Is she right? No. No. No. No. But maybe. _"I only asked because apparently Miranda has been looking for the designer behind Eliza Elisabeth since we had our first show. Seriously. There was nothing between us."

Monica nodded slowly. "Why did you walk out on her?"

"There was," Andy shook her head, "some stuff that happened. I didn't like the way she treated this guy who was – still is, I think – her right-hand man. He was a friend, and when I said I could never have done anything like what she did, she reminded me that I had done basically the same thing to someone I worked with. So I left. I didn't want to be like her."

"That's a shitty excuse."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, that's bullshit." Andy was shocked. "You don't leave a job like that, when you only have a few months left until your year is up –" that much had been conveyed to Monica at some point over the years- "without a damn good reason. And your reason sucks, Andy."

"My reason does not –"

"Why did you leave?"

"I just told you –"

"Why did you _really_ leave?"

"Monica –"

"Why?!"

"Fine! I had feelings for her!" Andy huffed, throwing her arms up. "But it was just that she was powerful and I was young – hero worship or whatever! And anything I felt for her is long gone." Andy picked up her pencil and started marking the fabric again, hunching her shoulders over the table.

After a pause, Andy heard Monica ask softly, "You sure?"

Andy looked as if she might start crying now. "No," she croaked.

* * *

_TBC_


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you to my wonderful beta, **Delilah Moon**_

_Unfortunately I will be without internet for the next ten or so days, so no new updates until then :/ however I did manage to write a quick one-shot, if you want something new to tide you over (it's called: Good Morrow to Our Waking Souls)._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

It was only Wednesday. For god's sake could this week move any slower? Miranda picked up the fresh Starbucks sitting on the corner of her desk and sipped. _Delicious._

This week was going to be hellish. And so it was.

Wednesday saw a disaster in the accessories department for the November issue. Miranda had the sneaking suspicion it was because Emily had been trying to be silent first assistant _and_ work in accessories at the same time. Her trying to help cater to Miranda's every whim really had to stop. She'd talk to Nigel about it.

On Thursday her second assistant – Jamie? Janet? – informed her of a glitch in seating for the flight to Paris. The flight that would be leaving on Friday afternoon. Miranda so wanted to fire what's-her-name, but the timing wasn't good. She needed someone here while she and Clarissa, her first assistant, were in Paris.

There was also a mishap with getting some of the designers' work early. Being Miranda Priestly meant that she got a preview of everything before it hit the runway. Being told no to such a request didn't bode well for any designer, as Vera Wang soon found out. It was a disappointment to learn that she'd not wanted Miranda to see her designs beforehand – usually Vera was so very good about these things, although when Miranda finally got her hands on the designs she could see why… they were less than adequate. Oh well.

Miranda made it a point to have breakfast with her daughters on Friday morning before she left. Sitting at the kitchen island once again Caroline and Cassidy began telling their mother about their week as they shoved yogurt and a bagel into their mouths, respectively.

"Oh and there was a weird phone call on Tuesday morning, after you left for work," Cassidy began.

"Oh?" Miranda raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah, woke me up. Some woman." Cassidy stopped to take another bite of her bagel. "She said she got a missed call or something from our number on Monday," she shrugged, "Figured it was your new assistant, but you were already at work."

Miranda nodded slowly. She thought she knew exactly who had called. "What did she say?"

"Nothing, just that she had the missed call. I thought she was the new girl and when I told her not to call so early, cause woke me and Caroline up, she just hung up," Cassidy shrugged again. "It was weird."

And that was the last that was said on that subject. In conversation, anyway. Sitting in First Class on her way to Paris, Miranda let her mind wander to Andrea. She'd called back. It was exceedingly possible that she hadn't recognized the number, and when Cassidy had mentioned assistants, her mother, and Caroline, Andrea had connected the dots. Nigel had said she sounded suspicious.

Miranda found herself picturing the younger woman – a collection, of sorts. When she'd come in for the interview, boasting of her work ethic. That hideous cerulean sweater. The first time Miranda had seen her after Nigel worked his magic. Before then, she'd been sure there was something more underneath the bile-producing clothing her second assistant chose to wear, and well, she'd been right. As usual. She remembered the satisfaction Andrea had shown when she'd produced the Harry Potter manuscript, and she remembered a dozen other impossible tasks the girl had performed.

Mostly, however, Miranda remembered walking in each morning and being greeted with a smile, a cheerful "Good morning, Miranda," and the perfect cup of Starbucks. She remembered Andrea's persisting kindness in the face of a sea of scowls – most of them her own. Or Emily's. Miranda remembered how even after she'd called her fat, Andrea hadn't started dieting. And thank god for that, too. That remark she'd regretted the instant it'd come out of her mouth.

The most prominent thought in Miranda's mind now was that of Paris. Andrea had been nice to her. Not because there were people around, not because she thought she might further her career. Just because. And Miranda had pushed her away.

Sitting back in her seat now, Miranda recognized that moment for what it was. She'd grown close to the girl, but when offered support she'd shut it down. _Because she cared._ Miranda sighed. She hadn't wanted to get attached, and she knew that the feelings could grow, if given time and inclination, so she'd nipped it in the bud. It wouldn't do to fall for a girl nearly half her age, someone who'd likely never return her feelings. And then Andrea had left, and she'd remarried.

At this point Miranda let her anger at Andrea overwhelm her. Her anger for being left in Paris, for not being notified when the girl who she'd once worked so closely with suddenly became a notable designer. _How could she?_

It hit Miranda then, that _I might have done the same thing_.

* * *

Andy was exhilarated. She'd worked non-stop except for a few hours of sleep for the last three days, and this newest collection was really coming along. They were going to have to do something different though. She now had two collections, and only one show.

A plan starting germinating in her mind as she hailed a cab. She needed food. Actually, what she really needed was cake, and so she directed the cab driver to her favorite bakery in Paris. It was in a swanky part of town, not too far from where she lived, and they made an orgasmic cheesecake.

Stepping out of the cab, Andy passed a few bills through the passenger-side window and spun around only to bump into a pedestrian with quite a bit of force.

"Woah!" He grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. She was about to extend her thanks when she found herself staring into the face of Christian Thompson. "Andy? Andy Sachs?"

She backed up, steadying herself and smiled a little. "Christian, what a surprise." She wasn't thrilled to see him.

"Indeed! What brings you to this fabulous city? Not Fashion Week, I'm sure," he smiled at her, chuckling, turning on the charm.

Of course he would say something like that – _as if he knows me so well_. "Well, you know, I heard about this bakery," she joked, and pointed to the brightly-lit windows next to them.

He laughed, touching her arm. "You know that's such a coincidence, this was actually my destination as well. I say we should go in," and with that he guided her by the elbow into the small bakery. It wasn't too crowded, and they easily found a table. Andy had bought a small tart and a coffee to eat while she and Christian caught up, and had the large cheesecake she'd been craving wrapped up in a box for later.

"So Andy, you never answered my question before." He smiled at her again.

"Hmm?"

"You never told me why you're in Paris."

"Maybe I really did come for the cheesecake," she gave him a tight smile, and he laughed.

"A woman after my own heart. But seriously, what brings you here?"

"I have a friend who's showing some of her things next week," clearly Andy was not about to tell him why she was _really_ here. After all, she'd only told about five people in the last six years what she was doing in Paris, and Christian Thompson was not going to be the sixth.

"Oh? Anyone I know? I'm covering the shows, I could give her some press," he offered.

"Really?" she smiled sweetly, "You mean you're not here to steal anyone's job this time?"

Christian gave her a hard look. "That was business Andy. And it was a long time ago. Don't tell me you still have a stick up your ass about it. Miranda didn't even need your help, in the end." He snorted at that last part.

Andy shook her head. This was silly. "You're right, I'm sorry. I let go of that a long time ago."

He smiled once again. "Good. You know, thinking towards the future is always more fun anyway," he waggled his eyebrows, and Andy gave him a smile in return, all the while wanting to puke.

They continued chatting about what they'd been doing for the last seven years – or, Christian had. After several successful dodges of the man trying to pry information from her, Andy had turned her attention toward what he'd been doing, and he'd been happy to talk and talk and talk about who-knew-what – Andy was barely listening.

Finishing their coffees and tarts, Andy mentioned that it was getting late and she had to go. Christian, of course, made it a point to walk her out and down the street.

"So tell me about your designer friend."

"Oh, uh, you know…" she hesitated. What the hell was she supposed to say? You'd think after five years she'd be better at lying. Or really, coming up with lies.

"Come on, Andy, just give me a name at least. She's an up-and-comer, right? As long as it doesn't conflict with any of the big shows I'll come check it out, give her some press," he said, like he was doing her the biggest favor in the world.

"I don't think getting press to cover her is the problem," Andy was becoming sour about this. She was a big deal, damn it. _God, when did I become _that_ person? _The answer was painfully obvious. _When Christian Fucking Thompson started being all arrogant and in-my-face. _

"Really now?" He looked fake-impressed. Like he couldn't believe she would know someone worth watching. Although, she reasoned, the Andy he knew _wouldn't_ have any well-known designer friends. Come to think of it, because she'd kept her face out of the spot-light, she _didn't_ have any designer friends. She'd been contacted by the big names of course, offering her congratulations after every show (she did the same) – but Monica handled all of that. "Come on, now I'm dying to know." He wasn't, she could see that.

"Eliza Elisabeth." But now he was.

They were walking along the Seine when he stopped. "Holy shit. Are you serious? You know Eliza Elisabeth?" She nodded. "Really, though? The real woman behind the curtain?" She nodded again. "Because she is notoriously elusive. Hasn't been published anywhere– no spreads, no photo shoots. The fashion world only gets what walks on the runway and what has somehow managed to get to stores and boutiques and the like."

"I know," she kept nodding.

"So how do you know her?" He was obviously curious now.

She turned to look at him, "I know her by accident, through family. How 'bout you stop asking me about a woman who obviously has worked very hard to remain hidden?" He chuckled at that and nodded.

At which point Andy felt an arm wrap around her shoulders as Christian pulled her into him. "Christian… I don't really –"

"Oh come on, Andy," he squeezed harder, "we had such a great time all those years ago, why not do it again?" He stopped then, bringing her in front of him and kissing her hard, shoving his tongue into her mouth.

Shoving him off her Andy took a few steps back and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "I said no. Good night." She turned and walked away, hearing a, "I'll find you later!" called back at her. Disgusting.

Clutching both her purse and the bag that held her precious cheesecake, Andy crossed the Seine and kept walking. The lights in the city were on – shop windows, apartments, hotels.

She looked up to see Hotel Lutetia, one of Paris' many luxury hotels. As she gazed at the building in all its splendor, something caught her eye. A black town car. A jet of silver.

Andy stopped moving, her heart pounding in her ears, and watching as Miranda Priestly herself stepped from the car, stopped, and turned around every-so-slowly. Their eyes met across the street, Miranda's widening in surprise. She looked as if she was about to make her way over, or at the very least beckon Andy to her. So Andy, supporting the bottom of her cheesecake, ran.

* * *

_TBC, of course... let me know what you think so far!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Hello, all - I'm back! (for now at least... there might be a little delay again posting the next chapter due to internet issues, but hopefully not). _

_Once again, many thanks to **Delilah Moon**_

_****Enjoy!_

* * *

Nigel had been confused. Now Nigel was slightly annoyed, although more concerned for his friend and boss.

Miranda had knocked on his door loudly until he opened up, at which point she flew through his room, searching the mini-bar until she found what she was looking for, which was scotch. After throwing back a couple fingers of the amber liquid Miranda had demanded that he contact Andrea and get her to agree to some sort of meeting - a lunch, a drink, a bench in the park, anything.

Nigel, of course, after asking what had happened to set the woman off just hours after they'd arrived and receiving no response, did just that.

"_Hello?"_

"Six," he said curtly – after all, Miranda was standing over him watching with her hawk's eye – "It's me. Nigel."

"_Is Miranda there with you?"_

"Yes. How'd you know?"

"_She just saw me. Or I saw her, or whatever, just across the street from the hotel." _

"Well perhaps we can get together and have a little chat," he suggested.

"_No, I don't think that would be a good idea."_

"Come on, Six. What if I promise Miranda won't be there?" Miranda gave him a glare and sat down on the couch across from him.

Andy gave a strained laugh, _"I'm not that naïve, Nigel, and honestly, I do have a lot of work to do."_

"Yes, I know. Apparently you have a show in six days time." He paused, waiting for a response, but got none. "So it's true then?"

"_What's that?"_

"You know."

"_Do you?"_

"Are you really the designer behind Eliza Elisabeth?" sounding a little annoyed he even had to ask the question. Miranda had crossed her legs and turned to look at something else, not that she wasn't listening to his half of the conversation with rapt attention.

"_All evidence points towards that fact, yes."_

Nigel cleared his throat. "Why…" he stopped himself, not wanting to sound petty but then not really caring. "Why didn't you tell me? Or anyone, for that matter?"

"_That's a whole other conversation."_

"Come to lunch and we can have it."

Andy laughed again, _"No, I don't think so. I don't want to bait the beast."_

"What do you mean?"

"_You know…"_

"Actually this time I really don't," he sounded genuinely confused.

"_I expect that after this week Miranda will blacklist me from the fashion world. I'm not attached to any publication, but I'm sure her influence extends at least in part to the high-end places where my clothes sell. I don't need her to bite my head off at lunch on top of that."_ Andy said this last part quietly, the hurt evident in her voice.

"Six –"

"_Nigel, I really am quite busy,"_ she paused for a moment but he didn't say anything, sensing she wasn't quite done_. "I will give you this though - I'm showing two collections on Thursday."_

"Two collections?" His voice was incredulous. Miranda looked at him sharply, desperately wanting to know the other half of the conversation. "Since when?"

"_New York."_

"New York? Andy that was less than a week ago." Nigel was stunned, as was Miranda.

"_I know. Like I said, I've been busy."_

"You really think you can pull this off with so little time? That's a huge undertaking," his voice held warning. Miranda nodded slightly, as if to second his opinion.

"_Yeah, it's – I was inspired while sitting in Central Park. I saw – am I on speaker?"_

"No."

"_She can't know this, Nigel. Promise me if I tell you, you won't tell her."_

"I can do that."

Andy sighed. _"I saw Cassidy and Caroline in the park." _Nigel murmured his was going crazy not knowing, and she started fidgeting. _"They weren't wearing anything fancy, but, well you know them - and then Miranda - and so they were put together nicely. Obviously their own styles, even though they're identical, but Nigel, you should have seen it – two completely different people. It was… quite a sight. I had my sketchbook with me, and I sat there until I lost the light and then I went back to my hotel, I didn't sleep a wink,"_ she chuckled at that. "_That's where the second collection comes from. It's a young sophistication. Each piece is paired, but only slightly – you'll see,"_ she broke off for a moment. _"You are coming, right?"_

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Six. Not for the world." He could practically hear her grin over the phone.

After they hung up Nigel relayed all that Andy had said, save for the part about Cassidy and Caroline.

"What were you two talking about towards the end?" Miranda could sense it was something important.

"Well, you know, she's going for two collections. Very ambitious."

Miranda scoffed, "I'll say. What does she think, that everyone will just 'stick around' while the other shows happen?"

"If her first collection is anything like last year's, or the four before that, I think people will be more than willing to hang around for the second." Nigel stood then, grabbing some scotch for himself.

"Well, did she give any hint as to what this great second collection will be?" Miranda was thirsty for information, but waved her hand slightly in an effort to look like she didn't care.

Nigel chuckled. "Miranda, you've never had any information about any of Eliza's work before it's walked, what makes you think this time is different?"

"Tell me what you know, Nigel," Miranda growled.

He shook his head. "I promised her I wouldn't, but you'll definitely want to stick around for the second act, it sounds most compelling."

* * *

Andy tossed her phone onto the table a few feet away and looked down at what she'd been working on during her phone call with Nigel.

It was a portrait of Miranda as Andy remembered her from that night in Paris when she'd opened up all those years ago. Andy had been shocked when she'd been allowed to see Miranda without her walls up, and it was then that she'd first acknowledged that the feelings she had for her boss weren't quite appropriate.

After struggling to warn Miranda and failing she had felt defeated. Sitting in that car, riding through the streets of Paris, Andy wondered why she had tried so desperately to defend the woman sitting next to her. When she found her answer she knew she couldn't stay. It wouldn't have been right.

Monica had called her on her bullshit, as usual. What she felt for the Ice Queen hadn't dissipated. Perhaps it had gone into hibernation for a while. Andy had seen other people, although only a few and never for very long. Mostly it was about sex. Because she'd have a fleeting thought about her old boss and she'd shove herself back into work, breaking off whatever 'relationship' she was in.

Andy looked at the likeness she'd created – it was beautiful, raw. The fact that she cared so much for a woman who would never feel the same – who was married with a husband and two children - made her heart feel like it was being tossed around, eventually landing and shattering into a thousand pieces.

Nevertheless, Andy knew she'd have to show her face now. Now that Miranda knew, she couldn't hide any longer. Although, she reckoned, this would probably be her last show if Miranda had anything to say bout it. _Better make it count,_ she thought, and started sketching a suit for her big reveal. It would be cerulean.

* * *

Miranda was not a happy camper. As her car pulled up to the next venue, she thought about the show she'd just come from. Vera Wang, as expected, had been… uninspired. What was worse was that Miranda had expected to have a few of her pieces in next month's issue of _Runway._ That was no longer true, although what had she expected, really? Especially after the preview she'd had to wrangle.

Fashion Week in Paris had only just started however, as it was only Tuesday. The shows would last until Saturday evening, when the opulent parties would commence. Miranda wondered if Andrea would attend any of the parties this year, now that her secret was known.

Of course, Miranda would never divulge that piece of information, and she was certain Nigel wouldn't either. In fact, she'd been quite angry on Friday when she'd learned that Andrea expected a blacklisting after this week. It occurred to Miranda that before Nigel had mentioned it, blacklisting the name Eliza Elisabeth hadn't even crossed her mind. _How can she think I would do such a thing? Does she not see the enormous talent she possesses?_

Brushing those thoughts aside Miranda took her seat for Dior. It looked promising.

Deciding to have lunch at the hotel instead of at the Dior luncheon, Miranda made her way back to the town car. The show was perfectly acceptable, some of the pieces even excited her. No pursed lips, always a plus.

On their way back to the hotel Miranda turned to Clarissa, startling the poor girl. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Get me a list – names and phone numbers – of everyone we know in Paris who can help track somebody down. I'll need it during lunch."

Clarissa nodded, her platinum blond hair brushing the tops of her shoulders. "Is this about the Eliza show?"

Miranda glared. "No." She gave no further explanation.

Halfway through lunch with Nigel and a few other department heads from _Runway_, Clarissa slipped Miranda a list of about seven names with corresponding phone numbers, who then excused herself to her suite.

Making the calls, Miranda waited impatiently for the information she desired to surface. Half an hour later she was pleased to hold in her hand a paper with the address of one _Andrea Sachs, American_. To Miranda's pleasure, it was an address not too far from the hotel.

Slipping out of the hotel and to her waiting town car, Miranda found herself in front of an old, but beautiful brick building. Buzzing for Andrea's apartment, she got no answer, but slipped in when a man in his early twenties came out. Apartment 7D. She knocked, then again, and again. Evidently, there was no one home.

Miranda sighed and left, feeling foolish for even having come. Versace was waiting.

* * *

Across town, Andy bit her lip as blood dripped down her thumb. _Shit._ _Just what I need... it comes with the profession, I suppose._

Sucking on her thumb while searching for a bandage Andy heard Monica on the phone with de la Renta's people. He'd done an excellent job. Vera Wang… had not. Andy shook her head, focusing herself.

Her show was in two days. She only had three more dresses to make for the new collection, which she'd entitled _Stessa._ It was Italian for sameness, for being like one. At least she hoped. The Italian guy who lived in her building was very old and knew very little French and even less English.

Gathering her hair up into a short ponytail she went back to work. She still had the suit to make for herself, as well.

Later that evening she was still working, one dress down two to go, when Monica interrupted her with baguette and coffee. _May the heavens look upon you kindly, Monica._

"How many do you have left?" Monica had the bad habit of talking with her mouth full. Whatever, there were times when Andy did, too.

"Just two, and they'll be done by morning."

"You know, you could, like, I don't know – sleep." Andy rolled her eyes and Monica continued, "You have time now. I don't know how the hell you got all this done by yourself in a week, but you can breathe now."

"I just have two more dresses. I'll feel better when I know they're done."

"Well, you know you could have hired seamstresses. You certainly have the money."

Andy sighed. It was true. And it would make life a lot easier, but, "You know I like to make all the dresses that are gonna walk on the runway." Monica nodded. Andy had always been firm about that, and her work was impeccable and always on time.

They talked and ate for a few more minutes before Monica approached the subject Andy could see she'd been skirting. "You're finally gonna do it, aren't you?"

"I… huh?" _What in the world is she talking about?_

"You're gonna get up on that runway and show the world who's behind Eliza." _Oh. That would be it, yes._

"Um, yeah, I am. I know we haven't talked about it, but…"

"Andy," Monica placed her hand over her friend's, "these are your designs. You do what you want with them and with yourself," she said reassuringly, and then, to add a bit of levity, "just be sure to give me a cut when you become rich and famous."

Andy barked her laughter at that. "Thanks Monica."

"You know if it'd been up to me you would never had hidden from the press – you deserve the credit of your designs." Monica released her hand and went back to her food.

"There's a real possibility that this'll be our last show." Monica furrowed her eyebrows, confused. "Miranda could blacklist me from the fashion industry. I can't imagine she's happy with me right now."

"Well, I guess we'll see what happens. Your designs have never been featured in any magazine, so there might not be much she can do." Andy nodded, but voiced her concern again, just to make sure Monica understood what might happen.

"Well, if it's all the same to you, I'm gonna start passing around the office number to some of the designers, letting them know that we're open to contact and that sort of thing. You going out there won't do much good if no one can reach us." Andy agreed, and Monica went to work.

She didn't sleep that night, staying at the studio until eight AM to get the dresses finished. They were really gowns, and they'd be the last pieces of the show. She couldn't be prouder of them, either. They truly did work hand in hand.

After a few hours sleep in her bed, and worked from home, creating the suit she'd wear when she walked out onto the runway with the models displaying her work.

Nigel had called on Monday to ask if she'd reconsider drinks, but she'd declined. She half thought Miranda might call her herself – she had her number after all, but no dice. Andy didn't really know what she'd say to Miranda if she had called anyway, so there was that.

Falling asleep in her chair on Wednesday night, her suit complete on a mannequin next to her, Andy was woken the next morning by Monica, who had a key, shaking her.

"Come on, Andy, your show is in less than ten hours." That got her up.

* * *

_TBC..._

_Hope this chapter was worth the wait - let me know!_


	8. Chapter 8

_As always, thanks to my lovely beta Delilah Moon_

_This is the big reveal... hope it lives up! Enjoy_

* * *

Miranda's insides thrummed with nervous anticipation, and it was driving her bat-shit crazy. Since when did Miranda Priestly get butterflies before a fashion show? She'd only been to hundreds of them.

Eliza Elisabeth's show was at six, and it was only one now. Whatever was she supposed to do with herself for five hours? She supposed she had waited five years, but patience was not something Miranda was gifted with.

"Nervous?" Nigel was sitting next to her - they were waiting for the Saint Laurent show to begin.

"What exactly am I supposed to be nervous about?"

Nigel rolled his eyes. "The show, of course," he said slowly.

"Well I've already seen the drawings in the preview. It's nothing inspiring, but the pieces are solid – they'll do well in the December issue."

"Miranda you know that's not the show I'm talking about." She gave him _the look._ "Fine," he threw his hands up, "but I am. It's okay to want her to do well."

It was Miranda's turn to roll her eyes. "Of course I want her to do well. If it ever got out that she used to work at _Runway_ and she _doesn't _do well, it would reflect poorly on the magazine and I would be very disappointed," she muttered.

"You're impossible," sighed Nigel. "No one even knows who she is, and…" Just then the lights went down and the music changed. The show was about to start.

* * *

They were backstage now, prepping the models. The show would begin in less than ten minutes. Monica watched on as Andy fluttered about, touching up the dresses, making sure everything was perfect.

Which it was, it had been for weeks… or days, in the case of the second collection, Stessa. Monica thought again how brilliant her friend was and turned away to take a call.

She'd spent all of yesterday discretely making it clear that the Eliza Elisabeth show was going to be huge, passing around information under the table that the designer might be backstage tonight. Not only would the designer be backstage, eventually she'd be on it – but the rest of the world didn't need to know that. Monica couldn't help the anticipation growing in her belly – Andy was finally going to be recognized for her work.

"Um, Monica?" A young assistant tapped her shoulder.

"What is it?"

"There's a man wanting to get backstage, he says he knows a friend of the designer – Andrea Sachs."

Monica smirked. "What's his name?"

"Christian Thompson. I think he's a writer."

"Okay. Don't let him back just yet." Monica needed to find Andy. _A friend of the designer? Was she hooking up with some famous writer and I had no idea?_

"Andy!" she called, grabbing her friend's elbow.

"Monica, now is really not a great time."

"Yeah, there's a Christian Thompson wanting to get backstage. Yes or no?"

Andy grimaced and set her shoulders. "No. Definitely no."

Monica would take care of this one herself. "Mr. Thompson, is it?" She'd been pointed towards a tall man with blond hair; good-looking. Monica could see how Andy would be into this guy... except that she was sure Andy was into no guy right now. Just one very distinguished lady.

"Yes, I'm looking for my friend, Andy Sachs? She's friends with the designer, and I told her I'd drop by," he gave her a charming smile and Monica could see why Andy had reacted the way she'd reacted.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Thompson, but no one's allowed backstage at this time. Perhaps after the show."

"Did you talk to Andy? I don't know if she knew I'd be here, maybe –"

"Mr. Thompson, why don't you take a seat and maybe you can find your friend after the show." She gave him a stern look and walked away. If he really was a writer, he'd probably been trying to get an exclusive, thinking Andy would be the bridge between him and the first interview with the mysterious designer. Obviously the man didn't know Andy at all.

She heard an assistant call three minutes and saw Andy turn green. Hopefully she wouldn't puke like the first time.

* * *

Nigel followed closely behind Miranda to their seats, the show would begin in a few minutes. Usually Miranda got to her seat as early – and as fashionable - as possible, however she'd delayed departure for this show, and as it was they had maybe two minutes until the lights were dimmed. Nigel thought it probably had something to do with nerves, although Miranda would never admit it.

He looked to his left and saw the large letters tacked onto the wall reading _Eliza Elisabeth. _He saw Miranda do the same.

The rest of the _Runway_ crew filed into the row behind them. He and Miranda were sitting dead center in the front row, as always.

The lights dimmed then and Nigel waited with bated breath.

* * *

Miranda watched with rapt attention as the first models graced the runway, and in an instant she was entranced, barely blinking throughout the entire show.

The first collection of models wearing their garb lined up on the catwalk, signaling the end of the show, and the crowd stood and gave thunderous applause. Of course no one expected the designer to appear. And she did not. As the models made their way off stage, however, the music changed, gradually increasing in volume.

An unusual choice for a fashion show, _although_, thought Miranda, _nothing about this is usual. _No, the first collection had been magnificent - a breath of fresh air, it excited the room and kept the crowd – even Miranda – at the edge of their seats, waiting to see the next design.

With the last of the models from the first collection off stage, but the music still going and the lights dimmed down again, people began to understand that the show was far from over.

And then came the models, two by two. Miranda looked down at her leaflet briefly, at the bottom, in small, elegant letters, read: _Two; Stasso._

_That must be the name of this second collection._ At first thinking the 'two' referred to the fact that this was collection number two of the evening, Miranda saw that she was quite wrong indeed.

The models had been paired together deliberately, each a side of the same coin, as it were. The pairings wore different styles that, in a way Miranda had never before imagined might be possible, _worked._ It was then that Miranda thought of her girls, how they would have adored this show. In fact, Miranda mused that this collection was very much like her girls – each piece identically different, and radically so.

The last models to walk wore beautiful gowns – sure to become classics in fashion history. One was silvery with hints of turquoise, the other brick red. However different the color schemes however, the cut was extremely similar. Not the same, though. Subtle, but obvious enough.

Once again the crowd got to their feet to offer deafening applause as the models made their way, two by two, onto the runway. Miranda was gazing at a particularly intriguing skirt when the applause died down, and suddenly it was so silent one could have heard a pin drop. There, under her label at the end of the runway, was Andrea, wearing… cerulean, of all things. A black, low-cut silk blouse was tucked into high-waisted, skinny cerulean pants that ended at her ankles, meeting four-inch ivory pumps. The jacket was cerulean as well, as far as Miranda could tell, and clasped at only one point an inch above the waistline of the pants. However as Andrea made her way down the runway, the room still silent, Miranda saw the ivory paneled back, complete with intricate beading.

She was striking.

It was in that moment that Miranda realized the room had turned to her, looking for any sort of cue as to how to proceed.

Miranda tilted her head slightly, and then she smiled - the resulting effect was emphatic applause.

* * *

Andy beamed as she made her way backstage. The last hour and a half had been like hell on earth for her, but somehow she'd managed to get through it.

It helped that Monica was there to tell her to snap out of it every few minutes. As she had changed and prepared herself for her debut, all she could think about was Miranda. She'd peeked out into the audience a few times during the show, and as far as she could tell Miranda was enjoying herself. Although it was always hard to tell with that woman, unless she really detested something.

Or, as Andy soon found out, really liked something. As soon as she'd stepped onto the runway the room had fallen silent. _Well, here goes everything._ She'd slowly made her way down the row of models, stopping where Miranda was standing and looking down at her. She could tell the room – and especially herself – was waiting for a response. _Any_ response, because right now Miranda was staring at her expressionless.

Andy thought maybe Miranda hadn't realized all eyes were on her, as her eyes had been thoroughly examining Andy's designs. When she finally became cognizant of the fact that the room was waiting for her signal, she looked straight into Andy's eyes and she smiled.

The biggest smile Andy had ever seen her give. Maybe she smiled at her daughters that way, but not designers, and certainly not ex-assistants.

Andy beamed back at her and continued to make her way down the catwalk, stopping at the end for a few pictures, a wave, and finally turning and walking back, models in tow.

Now she was backstage, waiting for everyone to join her. She thought she might be hyperventilating, but Monica was there with a bottle of water, so she pulled herself together. _Actually, what I could really use is some wine, _she thought wryly.

Sipping her water, Andy watched as famous designers and celebrities poured into the room, the paparazzi not far behind. She was approached by everyone, paparazzi included, and thanked God she'd taken the time to touch up her makeup before she went out there.

And as everyone came to offer her congratulations, Andy spotted Miranda's white coif above the crowd and it was as if the room melted away, and there was a deathly tension between the two women.

They made their way towards each other, stopping just a few feet apart.

"Andréa." Miranda inclined her head, "Or should I say Eliza Elisabeth."

Her voice was like honey and Andy wanted to lap it up. "Miranda, I'm glad you came." They leaned in for Miranda's signature air-kiss, however Miranda allowed her lips to graze Andy's cheek, and it was as though she had electricity coursing through her bloodstream.

"I wouldn't have missed this," she gave a small, secret smile.

"Well –"

"Six!"

"Nigel!" Andy smiled, glancing back at Miranda, who'd adopted a bemused expression.

"That was gorgeous, Andy, really. Truly the best we've seen so far."

"I think it's safe to say instead that it's the best we _will_ see," Miranda provided.

Andy smiled shakily, not sure what to do with that. She'd never been good at receiving praise, although she often craved it. "Oh, I don't know Miranda, I hear Prada has something up their sleeve."

Miranda gave her another soft smile. "No, Andréa, I'm sure this is the best of the season," she said, with warmth and sincerity clear in her tone.

Just then she was pulled away by Marc Jacobs, who gave a quick "mazel tov" and apologized, but, "I need to speak with Miranda urgently."

"No doubt about those kilts he's planning on showing tomorrow," said Nigel, sounding none too impressed. "So," he raised his eyebrows, "the best of the season."

"She was being kind," supplied Andy, to which Nigel held up a hand and reminded her that when it came to fashion, Miranda didn't _do_ kind. Not unless she really meant it.

An hour later and most of the crowd had died down as most of the models and celebrities made their way to a Stella McCartney party, although a few big designers had hung around to chat with each other, enjoying the quiet. Andy was speaking with Valentino about his newest line of skirts when Andy saw Christian out of the corner of her eye. He was coming right towards her.

What she didn't see was Miranda, Nigel, and a woman from Dior discretely turn themselves so they could watch the events unfold.

"Andy!" He went in to hug her and she allowed it, not wanting to be rude.

"Christian, this is –"

"I know who this is, Andy, we've met several times." He nodded toward Valentino.

"Oh, well, we were just talking about –"

"I'm sorry," Christian was no longer talking to her, but to the powerful man to her side. "Would you mind if I stole her away for just a moment?" Valentino looked at her curiously but nodded, walking towards Miranda's group. Christian now had his hand on her shoulder. She tried to brush it off but he was persistent. "Andy, Andy, Andy, you've been hiding something from me!" He teased.

She gave him a tight smile, "I've been hiding something from everyone Christian, don't take it personally."

"I don't. I was a little hurt you didn't tell me that night on the bridge, but I think I'll get over it," his tone was light but his eyes were glaring at her, accusing, and his hand tightened ever so slightly on her shoulder. He took her elbow in his other hand. "Come, why don't we go somewhere a little more private."

She held her ground, "No, Christian. I have people to talk to."

"I've been waiting over an hour to talk to you. Just come with me Andy – just over there," he pointed to a semi-secluded corner. Then he shrugged playfully, "If not I'll be forced to inform the room of the birth mark you have on –"

"Okay. Okay." He smirked. _Jerk._

They made their way over to the corner, Andy now very aware that they were being watched. She was wary of the paparazzi. "What do you want?"

"Oh Andy, your words sting! Can't a guy just want a little pleasant conversation?" She raised an eyebrow. "Alright, I get it. I just want to know – honestly – why you didn't tell me the other night. Especially since you were planning on revealing yourself anyway. I could have gotten word out – you could have gotten great press."

Andy was taken aback and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't know if you'd noticed, Christian, but I did just fine with the press. And I didn't tell you because it wasn't any of your business." She finished with a bite in her tone.

"Okay, okay," he said soothingly. "Well, let me at least make it up to you – or you to me – however you look at it." _However I look at it? _ "Let me take you to dinner, say tomorrow night? We'll have a night on the town." He smiled down at her, uncrossing her arms by pulling on one of them and taking a hand.

"I don't know… I don't think –"

He stepped closer to her, so that there was barely any space left between the two of them. "Please?" he grinned down at her. "Remember how good last time was? Let's do it again," his other hand came up to grab her waist so that she had to lean back a little. "Spend the night in Paris with me, cherie." He pulled her in, meshing his mouth against hers the way he did just a few nights ago.

And once again, she pushed away. Or, she tried to push away, but he came with her, pinning her up against the wall, tongue still invading her mouth. A sense of panic overwhelmed her has his hands took both of hers and trapped them next to her hips, pressing his body up against hers. She was trying to wriggle free but he was well-muscled, and soon she heard herself making pathetic little noises in her attempt at freedom.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, it ended. Because there was Miranda Priestly, pinching Christian Thompson's ear between her perfectly manicured nails. Andy shoved his chest hard with her newly-freed hands, forcing Miranda to let go. And then Andy did the only reasonable thing to do in these sorts of situations, and she slapped him. Hard. She was wearing a ring, too. _Must hurt like a bitch. I Hope it does._

She felt a warm hand take hold of her upper arm. "Are you alright, Andréa?" Her voice was barely audible, but Andy could hear the menace. She nodded.

"Thank you." Miranda tilted her head almost imperceptibly. They watched as security escorted Mr. Thompson out of the building.

"Come, Andréa, let's find a drink. I know I could use one, I daresay you could too." All Andy could do was smile in agreement and be led out into the night, Miranda's hand on the small of her back.

* * *

_TBC_

_next chapter is all mirandy all the time. stick around. let me know what you think so far._


	9. Chapter 9

_So I know this chapter is a lot shorter than previous ones, but I felt that this scene was too important and needed to stand alone. Hope it lives up. _

_As always, thanks to my beta Delilah Moon_

* * *

The room was thinned out considerably now, the paparazzi having left, the designers moving onto other parties, however there was still a fully-stocked bar in the corner, which apparently Miranda intended to make use of, and she led them over.

Sitting on one of the barstools – something Andy never thought she would see – Miranda looked, well, not approachable, per se, but definitely softer, or something _more._ There was something more to her tonight, Andy decided, and sat down next to the white-haired woman.

"What's your poison?" The bartender was young and had spiked pink hair.

"Martini, dry, no olives." The pink-haired mixologist nodded, passed Miranda a scotch and went to get started on Andy's drink.

Miranda took a small sip, the alcohol giving her face a warm glow. "So Andréa, it would seem we have much to talk about." The bartender placed Andy's drink in front of her and gave them privacy. The only other people left in the room now were the cleaning crew.

"Oh?" replied Andy, "Has something happened?" Miranda smiled wryly. This was her kind of humor.

"You're quite the artist. Care to share how that came about?" Miranda was fishing. She had so many questions, but where to begin?

"It's a long story, Miranda."

"The good ones always are."

Andy smiled, shaking her head. "Okay, fine. I haven't eaten all day, though – you'll have to ply me with food."

Miranda chuckled at this. Some things never change. "Anywhere in particular you'd like to go?"

Andy was about to say no but caught herself, nodding yes. Which led the two women to Andy's favorite bakery, her preferred cheesecake just behind the glass counter.

"Really, Andréa, a cheesecake?" Miranda looked on disapprovingly. Andy supposed her disapproval wasn't completely unfounded, as she watching Andy dig into the cheesecake in front of her without even cutting off a piece.

The younger woman stood up and walked to the counter. Retrieving another fork, she made her way back to the booth – they'd chosen the most secluded one in the shop. Andy dropped the fork onto a napkin in front of Miranda. "Just try it," and she sat back down.

A skeptical-looking Miranda pulled the cake closer to her so it sat in the center of the table and clawed a piece off the side with her fork. Andy watched on in fascination as Miranda slowly brought the fork to her mouth, her lips closing around the treat. As Miranda tasted the cheesecake, she giggled, and the stopped, wide-eyed, covering her mouth with her other hand.

She'd _giggled – _that's how good it was. Andy smirked as if to say _I told you so,_ and dove back in where she'd left off. Miranda helped out on the other side.

"Now that the food's been provided, I believe you were about to tell me a story," Miranda prompted.

Andy nodded. "I used to draw people – portraits mostly, although in college I expanded, tried different things. I loved working on people's hands," she smiled, remembering. "When I started working for you, I gained an appreciation of the human form that I hadn't had before – or really, that had been dormant until then. I started to sketch out the clothing I'd have the man with his son wear, or the old widow in the coffee shop."

"And yet you were so adamant about journalism."

"It was just a hobby at the time, nothing I took seriously."

"What changed?"

Andy looked up then, her brow furrowed. "You know I don't know? Six or seven months after I started at the _Mirror_ I began getting this weird feeling whenever I'd sketch something. There was an intense desire there to put what I saw in my mind down on paper. I remember one night, it must have been two in the morning and I'd been sketching for hours, but I couldn't get it just right. I got so frustrated I threw a plate across the kitchen," Andy laughed softly, remembering that night well.

"Did it help?" Miranda asked wryly.

"Some," Andy smiled. "After that my job at the paper became just… a job. Something to pay the rent."

"And then?"

Andy ducked her head, "I'm gonna sound crazy," she muttered. Miranda said nothing, instead taking another bite of cheesecake. Andy sighed audibly. "I woke up one night, it must have been about eight months after I'd started at the paper. It was three AM but for some reason I was wired. I had been dreaming about Paris for about a week before that – the architecture of the city, the lights, the colors. It was – I don't know how else to describe it other than an itch. I needed to draw – to put onto paper what I'd been dreaming, to somehow make Paris come to life with the clothes I'd come to love sketching."

Miranda tilted her head then. "That was your first collection." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. After that I packed up and moved to Paris, and a year later I had my first show."

Both women were working diligently on the cheesecake now, eating and talking. "Why avoid the press?"

"I… I didn't think I'd be successful, with that first collection. And I didn't want the collection to be about me, about the designer. The clothes were Paris, I didn't want anything distracting from that." Andy shook her head, not revealing the whole truth.

"Well it's been five years…" Miranda trailed off, but it was clear Andy was supposed to respond.

She shook her head again. "This was…" Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. "I don't belong here," she whispered, looking away.

"What can you possibly mean?" They were speaking much more quietly now.

Andy put down her fork and rested her arms on the table. "This is your world, Miranda, I never meant to intrude."

A look of understanding passed over the older woman's face. "You belong here. More than most," her voice cracked, and Andy looked into her eyes. "I've spent the last five years looking for the designer behind Eliza Elisabeth, and two years ago I thought I had you, too." Andy had perked up at this information, so Miranda continued. "There was a model who had some information, but it didn't pan out. The best she had was the name of some highly-trusted but harried and sleep-deprived assistant."

A smile ghosted over Andy's lips and she picked up her fork, taking another bite. "That was me." Miranda looked at her quizzically. "I was the assistant. The models thought I was the personal assistant to Eliza Elisabeth, who for reasons unknown to them didn't want her face made public. All they knew was that my word was essentially the elusive designer's, and well, it was." She chuckled.

"The model I spoke with said the assistant's name was Emily…" Andy gave her a pointed look and a smirk. "_Oh._" Miranda smirked back. They both took another bite of the cheesecake. Damn it was good.

"You must know I'm curious, Andréa, why you've never shown your designs in New York."

Andy's smile faded and a blanket of sadness settled over her once again. Her whisper was barely audible, "You were in New York."

There was a long pause during which Miranda simply gazed at Andrea, taking her in. She was no longer the silly young thing Miranda had hired seven years ago. No, the Andréa Sachs sitting in front of her now was a woman. Miranda wasn't blind to that. And for the first time she thought that maybe her feelings weren't so one-sided after all. "Why did you leave in Paris?" She asked, her voice low.

Andy looked up, tears shining in her eyes again. "Miranda…" she whispered. "Please don't mock me."

Miranda reached out for the younger woman's hand then, stroking it lightly on the table. Andy gasped slightly through thick tears – the other woman's touch was practically electric, and her breathing became ever so slightly erratic. Miranda wasn't mocking her, Miranda was… Andy looked into the blue eyes across from her, recognizing the want reflected back at her.

Miranda lifted up Andy's hand and gently kissed her palm. "I never thought…" Miranda brought that palm up to cup her cheek. "You know that this cannot be, yes?" Her voice cracked, thick with unshed tears. Andy nodded, expelling a breath as a tear made its way down her cheek.

Caressing Miranda's cheekbone with her thumb for a moment, Andy dropped her hand, once again finding Miranda's. "How did this happen?" She asked quietly.

"Ask an easier question." Andy huffed a small, sad laugh.

She swallowed hard as more tears fell down her face, though she never broke eye contact with the woman across from her. "Did you like the cheesecake?"

Miranda smiled slightly and squeezed her hand. "I think if it were allowed, I could have loved it."

Andy choked back a sob and squeezed Miranda's hand. "I need to go," she said hoarsely.

As she stood, Miranda stopped her. "Andréa, promise me something?"

"Anything." Because even after all this time, refusing Miranda was something Andy found unbearable.

"New York Fashion Week is in sixth months. Be there."

Andy nodded and reached into her bag, grabbing her sketchbook. Flipping through the pages, she tore a piece of paper out, handed it to Miranda, and walked out.

Miranda watched her leave and then looked down at what she'd been given. It was a portrait drawing of her, the likeness perfect; it was beautifully done. It was then that Miranda let a few tears escape from her eyes and make their way down her cheeks, splashing onto the edges of the paper.

* * *

_TBC_


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks to my beta Delilah Moon._

_I know this one is short, but bear with me here - the next one is much longer. _

* * *

Miranda flicked her glasses off with a huff and called in the new girl. "Clarissa?" She heard the girl make her way in, not bothering to look up. Clarissa wasn't her name, but that of her first assistant. New Girl hadn't earned her stripes yet. Soon, maybe.

"Yes Miranda?"

"Tell Jocelyn that the Balenciaga spread is uninspiring, and that if she doesn't fix it by tonight she shouldn't come in tomorrow. Call the girls and remind them that I expect them for dinner tonight. I'm still waiting for the Dior preview – call their people, I mean, really," she drawled, "Fashion Week is fifteen days away and I haven't seen a scrap of evidence to show they're even close to prepared. Get Nigel in here and then get me Demarchelier. That's all." The girl scurried out, and a minute later she was on the phone with Patrick.

Nigel waited in a chair off to the side while she finished with Patrick, and when they were done he stood to hand her the new layouts. Expecting him to leave, she looked up to find he was still there.

"Something you needed?" He looked around shiftily and then closed the door to her office.

"I don't know what happened, she hasn't said a thing, and this may be out of line, but have you talked to her since that night?"

Miranda glared at him and swallowed, not quite sure what to say. Perhaps throwing him out of her office wouldn't be the best idea. He'd proved to be a most trustful confidante in the past, after all.

"You've… been in contact with her?" She tried not to sound too interested. Nigel saw right through that.

"Yes. She's been working very hard on the new line." He paused for a moment, not sure how much to divulge. He and Andy had picked up almost where they'd left off, and now they spoke once or twice a week. He'd even become quite friendly with Andy's right-hand gal, Monica, and through his conversations with his friend and his friend's friend, he'd gathered that not all was well with the brunette. He didn't know if he was overstepping, but Miranda was clearly miserable, so he thought what the hell. "She's… not happy."

"Oh?" Miranda raised her eyebrow.

"Well, it's more that she's not unhappy."

"That's not such a bad place to be."

Nigel sighed. Miranda _would_ say something like that. Of course it was not, actually, a great place to be. It was lonely, a sort of limbo. But Nigel feared Miranda had been there so long she no longer knew what being out of that limbo was like.

"Her new line is called Spaesato_._" He supplied. "It's Italian for lost."

"Well," she said, flipping through the layouts, "if it's anywhere near as good as her last line, I don't see what the problem is."

_This is going nowhere,_ thought Nigel. "She gets in tomorrow." Miranda looked up at that. "And a few months ago she talked about finally doing a spread." Miranda's eyes went wide. _Bingo._

"A spread… in _Runway?_ Isn't that a little presumptuous of her?" Miranda said, trying to sound too delighted.

Nigel laughed at that. "I think we both know it's not. Do you want me to tell her yes?"

"I was under the impression designers said 'yes' to us, not the other way around."

"Of course," he started, "I'll let her know we're not interested. I know _Vogue_ has been trying to wrangle a photo shoot and an interview with her for months, so I'll just –"

"Fine." Miranda relented. "Tell her we'd be… _delighted_." Sarcasm dripped from her voice, a result of Nigel having forced her hand.

"Excellent," Nigel clapped his hands together, "I may even get her to agree to an interview." He smiled at the thought and walked out.

Miranda tilted her head back in her chair and sighed inwardly, thinking of Andrea. The truth was, she'd been thinking about Andrea every day for the past six months. And she'd started having cheesecake delivered to the townhouse every once in a while, as well. She'd let herself indulge in her thoughts of Andrea while she stuffed the creamy treat into her mouth, and when she was done eating, she'd force herself to think of something – anything – else.

She had a husband who cared for her. That should be enough. It would be cruel of her to carry on with Andrea while Lucas was in the picture. And she had her girls, who'd fawned over the clothing she'd brought back from Paris, especially those from the Stasso Collection.

When Miranda had mentioned this in an off-hand way to Nigel a few weeks after Paris, he'd stopped what he was doing altogether.

"_What is it?" _

"_She didn't tell you?" Nigel looked astounded._

"_Who didn't tell me what?" Miranda, of course, knew exactly who 'she' was. _

"_Andy… she didn't tell you about the inspiration for that line?"_

"_No, why would she?" Now Miranda was confused. _

"_I don't know if I should," Nigel hesitated, "she asked me not to." _

_Miranda nodded, "Then don't."_

_This surprised Nigel, as evidenced by his widened eyes. "No?"_

"_She asked you not to, didn't she? I am capable of respecting a person's privacy." She stated. Of course, she was burning to know what Nigel was talking about. The inspiration for the Stasso line… interesting. _

"_She did," he nodded slowly, "but it feels like something you should know. I thought she would have told you, that night."_

_She shrugged, "The choice is yours." Returning to business matters, she said, "I'll need the revised layouts for 130 to 132, the font is a disaster, and the article from 240 to 245 needs to be reworked. Honestly, how hard is it to string together a few sentences?" She sat back down in her chair, waiting for Nigel to leave, which he did. _

_He'd returned, though, after most had gone home for the evening. He'd walked in, and without preamble told her how Andrea had seen the twins – her girls – in the Park, and had been inspired by both their similarities and their differences. With that he walked out, leaving a stunned Miranda sitting at her desk, glasses in hand. _

After that Miranda had felt more connected to the other woman than ever before. Suddenly there was a nervous anticipation building in her stomach. Andréa was coming, and if what Nigel said was anything to go by, she was feeling just as alone as Miranda.

Making a quick decision, Miranda called Nigel back in, informing him that he was to get Andrea to agree to a fifteen-page spread – they would do a compilation of her work focusing on her most recent designs – and an interview, after which an article would be penned by Miranda herself.

"So…" Nigel looked less than a little surprised at this. He'd seen it coming, after all. "You'll be conducting the interview then?"

"Of course," she said, waving her fingers, "That's all."

* * *

_TBC... in which Miranda has some interviewing to do... you know what that means..._


	11. Chapter 11

_Another chapter..._

_Thanks to my beta Delilah Moon_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"Are the models lined up? Did you get an extra suite in case I need to make last-minute add-ons? Did you RSVP yes to that Lagerfeld dinner thing? Where are they going to–"

Monica cut her off. "Andy. Calm down." They were in the backseat of a cab, making their way to the hotel. "The models are ready for you whenever you want them, yes to the extra room, yes to the Lagerfeld dinner, and Nigel is at five."

"What?" Andy turned her full attention to Monica now. What about Nigel?

"The preliminary get-together thing I told you about," Monica continued on, as Andy still had a dumbfounded look on her face. "To meet about the spread in _Runway_ and accompanying interview. Andy I mentioned this like two days ago."

"Sorry, I guess I've been a little distracted."

"Yeah you've been totally out of it for what – six months?" Andy gave her a look and Monica just chuckled. "The meeting is at five at some café near Elias-Clarke. I'll text you the details and you can make it over there on your own while I deal with the business side of this." Andy once again looked dumbfounded – like she didn't realize all it took to put on a fashion show. "You know, putting up the tents, the staging, the music… making sure you get there in once piece."

Andy nodded absently, turning her attention to the window again. Every time she came back to New York she felt at home, but she tried to push back those feelings, because New York wasn't hers. New York was Miranda's. She couldn't possibly co-exist in the same city as the woman without going crazy, especially now that the world knew who she was. She'd be invited to all the same parties and dinners and get-togethers and soirees as Miranda, and she wouldn't be able to say no to all of them. So she'd stay in Paris, at least until her feelings faded. _I'll be in Paris forever._

Because Miranda was right, as much as Andy hated to admit it. The older woman was married to a man who didn't cheat on her, didn't fight with her, didn't demand her time and affection – didn't do anything, really, except care for her. It would be wrong for her to leave, especially when, for all they knew, this attraction they felt could fizzle out within a few months.

How could they possibly last?

Andy thrummed her fingers against the leather of the seat, affirming in her mind that they'd made the right choice, to be apart.

* * *

An incessant knocking at her door pulled Andy from a restless, jet-lag induced sleep.

"What?"

Monica rolled her eyes. "It's four-thirty."

"Okay…"

"Nigel is at five," Monica pushed her way into her friend's suite, noticing that nothing had been unpacked. "Did you fall asleep as soon as you got here?" Andy shrugged. They'd arrived at the hotel around noon. Monica sighed and made her way back to the door, "Okay, well, you'd better get going soon." Andy nodded to indicate she'd heard.

Slapping a hand across her forehead, she surmised that she didn't really have time for a shower. Instead, she ran a brush through her hair and cleaned her face, reapplying only her mascara. Pulling on a pair of black skinny jeans, Andy tucked an ivory blouse into the waistline and shoved on her black suede Jimmy Choo pumps, grabbing her bag as she flew out the door.

She was late. Pushing open the door to the small, out of the way café, Andy looked around, searching for a familiar bald head. Spotting him, she made her way over.

"Hey, Nigel," she smiled and he stood to hug her.

"Six. You look about as tired as you sound on the phone these days," he sipped from his coffee.

"You sure know how to make a girl happy," she joked. She knew she looked like shit. She'd worked non-stop on this new collection, pouring herself into her work so she didn't have to think about what she and Miranda could never have.

"So, you ready for this?"

"The spread? Oh, yeah. We just need to work out which pieces you guys want to use," she ordered her coffee from the waiter and turned to Nigel. "I remember my assistant telling me something about an emphasis on the collection from Paris this year?"

"Yes," Nigel said, nodding, "Miranda particularly liked that one. However if you'd be willing, we'd love to see what you have planned for your new collection." He smiled, hoping she'd let him at least look at some sketches.

"I don't know, Nigel… I've never released anything early."

"I understand, but remember that if you do decide to showcase them in the spread, the issue won't come out until after Fashion Week." He was trying to remain calm about this, not bully her into anything.

"I know, I know, it's just –"

Nigel waved both his hands in front of him, "You don't have to decide now. You can talk it over with Miranda when you see her."

"Excuse me?" Andy paled.

"For the interview," Nigel tossed out, taking another sip.

Andy laughed nervously, "Why would I see Miranda for the interview?"

Nigel looked up guiltily. He'd purposefully left out the fact that Miranda would be interviewing Andy. And writing the piece. And probably, if he knew the woman at all, thinking that she'd made a huge mistake five minutes into it. "Oh, didn't I tell you? Miranda will be doing the piece on you."

"And what – that just slipped your mind?" She was getting flushed, her anger and nerves bubbling to the surface.

"It'll be fine," he waved her down.

"Can I request that someone else do it?"

Nigel was about to throw out a joke, but when he saw her face he knew she was dead serious. "Honestly? Probably not," he probed further, "Would you back out if that was the case?"

"It seems to be the case now," she huffed.

"Andy…" Nigel recognized the need to proceed with caution, but Andy just shook her head.

"I won't back out. I know how much time everyone's already put into this, and fifteen pages is a lot to fill on short notice," her eyes were downcast, a sadness falling over her.

"You know, she hasn't been the same either."

"I don't know what you mean," Andy glared.

Nigel just smiled, "Sure you do."

* * *

It was three in the morning and there was no way she would be able to go back to sleep. Jet-lag was a bitch. Pushing herself out of bed and into the shower, Andy contemplated her next course of action.

She was scheduled to meet with Miranda today – this morning, in fact. She'd been told through Miranda's assistant – in that horribly vague manner everyone at _Runway_ was so familiar with – that she could arrive at the Townhouse any time after four AM. At first Andy had scoffed at this, but as she scrubbed her body with the complimentary bar of soap, she realized that Miranda was doing her a favor, knowing she'd be up because of the time difference.

Things like that made Andy hate Miranda, because things like that made Andy love the woman just that much more.

Running her hands through her damp hair Andy chose the same jeans and shoes from yesterday and pulled on a top from her Stasso collection. Shrugging into a light jacket, Andy contemplated her sketchbook and decided to bring it along – it couldn't hurt, right?

She knocked, suddenly very nervous. Soon the door in front of her was pulled open to reveal Miranda herself, dressed in slacks and a casual top; no shoes.

Smiling slightly, the older woman bent her head, indicating that Andy should come in. They made their way to Miranda's office, Andy taking a seat on a comfortable-looking couch. "Coffee?" Miranda asked, already making her way over to the coffee-maker in the corner. Trust Miranda Priestly to keep caffeine close at hand.

"Thank you," Andy replied, gripping the mug and making sure their fingers didn't brush.

Miranda took a seat across from her in a large leather chair, curling one leg under her other thigh. "You're earlier than I expected."

"Oh, I'm sorry, your assistant said anytime –"

"Andréa, please," she waved her hand slightly, "You're fine. It was just…" Miranda exhaled a breath through her nose. "You look good."

Andy closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of the woman in front of her, looking at her as if she were the answer to everything. "I look tired."

Miranda gave a sharp laugh. "So do I." A silence settled over them then, and they both became aware of the everything and the nothing that was between them, practically tangible.

Andy attempted to break the silence. "Where are the girls?"

"Asleep."

"And your husband?"

"Hong Kong."

Andy nodded at this information. _Fuck, why couldn't he be here? Why is she making this harder?_

Miranda sensed the younger woman's discomfort. "Shall we talk about the spread then?"

"I thought you were doing the interview?"

"We'll get to that later. Right now I want to know your thoughts on what pieces we'll display. I think two from your first collection, and then at least one from each collection thereafter."

Miranda stared, not saying anything else. It was then Andy realized that when Miranda had said _your thoughts_ she'd actually been serious. Nodding, Andy agreed, "Yes, that sounds fine. Will you have everything or should I plan to ship the pieces in?"

Miranda waved her hand again, signifying that the answer was not so important. "We'll figure it out when we decide which pieces to use. The main issue is that of showcasing one collection specifically."

"Nigel wanted to see my newest line…"

"Do you have sketches with you?" Somehow, without the other woman even asking, Andy felt the need to show her the latest pieces, and she handed over her sketchbook. Holding her breath, Andy watched closely as Miranda slowly flipped through the pages, tracing her fingers over certain designs. Unable to tell what the other woman was thinking, Andy sat back and watched for a few minutes, deciding that whatever Miranda thought, it was too late to do anything about it.

Finally Miranda looked up, "This is magnificent, Andréa." It was barely a whisper, but there was force behind her words.

"Yeah?"

"Truly, it's… I would understand if you chose not to have these pieces in the spread, but know that if you did decide to move forward with it, everything would be tightly guarded."

Andy nodded, "Thank you, Miranda." They were talking in low murmurs now.

Miranda sucked in a breath, "This collection has such a melancholy to it. The designs vibrate of a beautiful sadness… it must have been quite difficult to create."

"No, it wasn't actually. It was difficult to endure – painful to keep coming back, but the designs came to me easily."

Miranda smiled sadly and closed the sketchbook, placing it on the coffee table between them. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Miranda asked Andy to explain her third collection – the one at which Miranda thought she'd really hit her stride and had gotten her 'look' down. The woman talked of many things, one subject leading to another – their childhoods, awkward first dates, what they'd thought of each other the first time they met, their opinions on other designers' collections, what they hoped to see at Fashion Week, their favorite sea creature.

At eight-thirty they heard a knock and a muffled, "Mom?"

"Yes, sweetheart, come in," replied Miranda, and within a second one of the twins was standing just inside the doorway. "Shouldn't you be getting to school?"

"Yeah, we're leaving soon, I just wanted to check and make sure you were okay. I heard you get up around four…" looking over at Andy the redhead's eyes widened slightly. "Isn't that one of Eliza's shirts? I think Caroline has one just like it," the twin – Cassidy, apparently – was talking without a filter now. "I have a similar one, but the shape's just a little bit different. Did you know Mom finally met the designer? Caroline and I swear she's gotta be super weird, I mean who would stay hiding like that for so long? I bet she's disfigured or something, Caroline says she's got some weird personality thing," Cassidy snorted then, turning towards her mother who curiously looked as if she was about to laugh. Suddenly remembering her manners, she looked back at Andy and extended her hand, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, I'm Cassidy."

Andy reached out and shook the girl's hand, an amused expression on her face, "Andrea Sachs."

Andy knew the second Cassidy recognized her name, as her eyes went wide and her face pale. "Oh, shit."

"Language," warned her mother.

"I'm so sorry. You're not disfigured at all, and I'm sure you're really nice and not weird," bringing her hands up to shield her eyes, Cassidy muttered again, "Oh my god, I'm so _so_ sorry."

Andy and Miranda looked at each other then, and burst out laughing at the expense of the embarrassed eighteen-year old in front of them. Clutching at her stomach, Miranda pulled her daughter to her lap, stroking her hair and continuing to chuckle.

Andy wiped small tears from the corners of her eyes. "It's really alright, Cassidy, I'm not offended in the least."

"Yes, well, she hit the nail on the head anyway," Miranda looked at her, amusement shining in her eyes. "You are horribly disfigured, and your personality is practically unbearable," Andy grinned, "In fact, if I didn't like your work so much I probably wouldn't spend any time with you at all."

Andy laughed again, throwing her head back. "Oh Miranda, you know you couldn't stay away if you tried." As soon as she said it she felt the air shift. The laughter died down, the amusement was gone.

Miranda looked at her then, unguarded. "No, I don't believe I could."

* * *

_To be continued... will all end well? You'll just have to wait and see..._

_Review and let me know what you think :)_


	12. Chapter 12

_Hello, all. I believe this is the moment you have been waiting for, although I have to warn that **this chapter is rated M,** so if you're not comfortable with that please don't read it. Also, I re-used a poem from one of my one-shots (Good Morrow to Our Waking Souls) - the poem is by John Donne. _

_Thanks, as always, to my beta Delilah Moon_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

It was seven PM on a Friday and Andy was back at the townhouse. Miranda had made it clear that nothing would get in the way of making the Eliza Elisabeth spread as good as it could be, so Andy had been scheduled for a few meetings since her first with Miranda, although all since then had taken place at _Runway_. Now, she was back at the townhouse, and from what Nigel had implied, Andy surmised that Miranda had left work early so they could meet and that her mood was getting increasingly hard to read throughout the day.

Fantastic. Just what Andy needed – a moody Miranda Priestly. She knocked and a few moments later the door swung open to reveal one of the twins in one of _her_ dresses.

"Hey you're Andrea Sachs right?"

She hadn't even gotten through the door yet. "Yeah," she winced as it came out almost as a question.

"Awesome. I heard what happened with Cassidy… sorry," Caroline sort of cringed. "We really do love your clothing."

Andy smiled wide, "I can see that. It looks good on you."

"Thanks," Caroline beamed. "Mom's in the kitchen," she turned around and walked down the hall, leaving Andy to close the door. Making her way back to where she knew the kitchen was, Andy wiped her hands nervously on her skirt. It was one of her own designs, tight but the material stretched, it went just above mid-calf. The blouse she wore was Chanel, and quite sheer, making visible her bra underneath. Andy realized now that maybe she'd unconsciously dressed up for Miranda. _Of course you did, you moron._

She entered the kitchen and was immediately hit with the sight of Miranda tossing a salad, an apron covering a navy wrap dress with a boat neck that – _Jesus Christ – _showed off her chest in a way Andy thought maybe should be at least a little bit illegal.

"Andréa," Miranda smiled at her slightly. That was something Miranda was doing more and more often around her – smiling. Not anything too big, just small little smiles or smirks, making Andy feel as though she were in on some joke, often making her insides warm.

"Miranda," Andy smiled right back, and felt as though she'd just had life breathed into her. "Cooking?"

Miranda quirked an eyebrow. "A salad. And wine, of course."

"Of course."

Suddenly a loud "Bye Mom!" was shouted down the hallway and seconds after that the two women heard the front door slam.

"They're going to some party," Miranda said, turning her attention back to the salad. Deciding it was done, she pulled off her apron and motioned to the kitchen table, "Shall we?"

Dinner, Andy was surprised to find, was a very normal affair. She and Miranda spoke on a range of subjects – there was no awkwardness, in fact it felt as if they had been doing this for years. It tore slightly at Andy's heart, but she pushed it down, wanting to make the most of whatever time she could get with Miranda.

They were in her study again, in the corner with the fireplace and the soft couches. Miranda was seated at her desk checking something for work while Andy perused the large bookshelves. Seeing that she had at least a few more minutes until Miranda was done, she pulled down a book of poetry and flipped through it randomly. Seeing a poem by John Donne, Andy turned towards Miranda and caught her eye.

"A fan of poetry, are you?" Miranda smiled slightly again, like she'd been doing for the past week now.

Andy just stared at her, looking on, holding the older woman's gaze. Then something opened up inside of her, and Andy felt almost as if she were about to cry, because she was so in love with this woman. This woman whose silver forelock was slightly out of place now, who was pressing the edge of her glasses into her bottom lip and looking at her as though she knew her. Which, Andy realized, was entirely possible, because she felt as though she knew Miranda. In the few meetings they'd had, they'd managed to somehow get off track of work each time, the conversation turning more personal. And now, Andy became conscious of the fact that this remarkable woman sitting in front of her probably knew her better than anyone.

"_Have you traveled much?" Miranda looked up from her work, quirking an eyebrow._

"_I didn't use to, before." They both understood that 'before' meant 'before I left you and became a designer.' _

"_And now?"_

_Andy shrugged, tilting her head. "Here and there for the shows – London, Milan, once to Australia."_

"_Anywhere tropical?"_

_She cracked a smile, "Australia was hot," and so does Miranda. Andy was desperate to ask why she was being questioned on her travel habits, but that was one of their unspoken rules during these conversations - you don't ask why. "What's your favorite place?"_

_A warm smile graced Miranda's face, "St. Lucia."_

"_Really?" Andy raised an eyebrow. "I had you pegged for somewhere like Amsterdam."_

"_I took the girls there once, to St. Lucia, when I was… in between husbands," Andy let out a bark of laughter at that and Miranda chuckled along. "We were there for a photo shoot, but I stayed behind with the girls for a few days afterwards. If it were up to them they would have spent the entire trip in the ocean."_

"_That sounds wonderful."_

"_It –" She paused and look at Andy, then gave her a big, wistful smile. "It really was."_

She glanced down at the poem and started to read, knowing that Miranda wouldn't take her eyes off her.

"I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I

Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then?

But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?

Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?

'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be."

At this point Andy looked up and locked eyes with Miranda, continuing to recite the rest from memory, her voice velvety, caressing the familiar words.

"If ever any beauty I did see,

Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,

Which watch not one another out of fear;

For love, all love of other sights controls,

And makes one little room an everywhere.

Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,

Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,

Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,

And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;"

"Stop," Miranda whispered. Andy could see that there were tears in her eyes now, and watched as one slipped down her cheek. Miranda stood and walked over to where Andy was, invading her personal space just enough. "What do you want me to say?"

Andy shook her head slightly, her lip quivering. "I don't know," she whispered hoarsely, tears falling down her cheeks now.

Miranda brought her hands up and cupped Andy's cheeks, wiping away her tears with her thumbs. "What are you thinking?" It came out as a low murmur, and Andy closed her eyes, finding the moment unbearable.

"I'm so in love with you it hurts," she whispered, keeping her eyes closed.

"Look at me." Andy shook her head and Miranda spoke with a little more urgency. "Look at me."

Andy smiled sadly and opened her eyes, "I can't do this Miranda."

Miranda slid one of her hands down to Andy's neck and breathed out shakily. "You must know you are not alone in this." Andy nodded. "My God, how did this even happen?"

"Ask an easier question," Andy said, throwing Miranda's own response back at her. "You once told me that you live on hope," Andy stepped closer and held Miranda's chin so as not to break eye contact. "Well here I've been, for six months, hoping against hope that I would stop loving you," she brought their faces so close together they were breathing each other's air. "But I fear it's a lost cause, and that I may never feel about another the way I feel about you." She stopped then, waiting for Miranda's reaction.

Suddenly she was being pulled forward and she felt her lips crush against Miranda's. There was a fire between them that Andy had never experienced with anyone else before, and she whimpered with the knowledge. Opening her mouth she slid her tongue across Miranda's bottom lip, and felt Miranda open up to her. She dropped the book as they explored each other's mouth, and felt herself being pushed back against the bookshelf.

Just like that Miranda's hands were all over her, pulling at her shirt, and when she couldn't maneuver the buttons properly, tearing it down the middle. Andy gasped at this and clutched at the older woman's waist, but Miranda didn't even slow down, shoving Andy's bra up and capturing a breast in her mouth. Andy moaned loudly at this and brought her right hand up behind her, holding onto the bookshelf.

As Miranda moved onto the other breast, she shoved Andy's skirt down, leaving it bunched around her knees, and tore off the flimsy lace thong she'd been wearing. Andy reached her other hand behind her so that both were now holding onto bookshelves as Miranda ran her hands over Andy's breasts, down her stomach and thighs, and then back up to her ass, squeezing slightly.

Andy let her head fall back against the bookshelf and groaned, and Miranda latched onto the pulse point on her neck, kissing down to her collarbone. Just when Andy thought she couldn't take any more, she felt two of Miranda's fingers thrust into her without warning, and she cried out, practically sobbing. Holding onto the shelves behind her so hard her knuckles turned white, Andy cried out over and over again as Miranda set a relentless pace, thrusting in and out of her while she peppered hot kisses on Andy's neck.

Andy felt the buildup of her orgasm rushing towards her, and apparently so did Miranda, who stopped kissing her and caught her eye. Looking into the dark blue eyes of this woman, Andy felt her hips jerk and heard herself scream as she came. The world was falling down around her and Andy would have been lost to it but for the eyes of the woman holding her up.

Andy panted, leaning her forehead against Miranda's. "Oh my god."

"Mmm… you're quite the sight," Miranda's voice was thick with arousal, and she stepped back to take in the image before her. Andy thought she probably looked a little ridiculous – shirt ripped open, bra shoved up to her chin, skirt bunched around her knees, trapping her legs – but as she watched Miranda watch her, Andy, with a groan, started to feel her own arousal build back up again.

Miranda saw this and chuckled, "It appears my work here is far from done."

Andy smirked, pushing her skirt down until it pooled around her ankles. "My work hasn't even begun."

* * *

_to be continued_


	13. Chapter 13

_I know it's been too long since the last chapter, but things have been super busy lately as I head back to school. Hopefully the next chapter will come sooner, but no promises (sorry!). _

_Hope this was worth the wait. _

_Thanks to my beta, Delilah Moon_

* * *

It was two days until the first show, and Miranda, quite out-of-character, found that the only thought persistently invading her mind was that of Andréa. They'd seen each other every day since that first night, spending hours together working, or making love, or doing absolutely nothing. Miranda felt she knew the other woman better than she knew herself, and she was sure the other woman knew her better than anyone else.

Sitting in her office Miranda looked over the first draft of the article that would accompany Andréa's spread in _Runway._ It was… personal. Would people know of the connection they shared, just by reading it? Perhaps she should tone it down a bit? But the thought that the world not know who the real Andréa Sachs was, especially when the alternative was something close to what Cassidy had described two weeks ago, was unacceptable.

_Andréa had stayed over the night before – the twins were off to some friend's house and Lucas was on another business trip – when she'd been called into work at seven AM. Suffice it to say, when she got home a few hours later she wasn't in the best mood._

_Shoving her coat onto a hanger in the hall closet and throwing her purse onto a nearby table, Miranda was about to make her way back upstairs to where she'd left her lover when she heard music coming from the kitchen - and the smell of pancakes. Walking through the house to the kitchen, Miranda stopped in the doorway, just out of sight of Andréa, who was wearing an oversized t-shirt and panties, standing at the stove flipping perfectly-brown pancakes onto a plate, and dancing in a most awful way to - was that Van Morrison? _

_She watched as the younger woman spun around with the now-full plate of pancakes, swinging her hips back and forth until she caught sight of Miranda, at which point she grinned and – to Miranda's increasing amusement – started dancing in an even more dramatic fashion. She watched as __Andréa reached out for her hands and brought them above their heads, swaying their bodies together._

_And somehow, between walking through the front door and walking through the kitchen door, Miranda's awful mood had dissipated. Because they were standing in her kitchen dancing to Van Morrison and _Oh fuck, I've fallen in love with her.

Miranda spun around in her chair to look out the large windows, thinking back on that morning-turned-afternoon. _What am I going to do?_

* * *

She stifled a yawn as she made her way to her lover's suite. The past week was a blur. Fashion show after fashion show, a never-ending torrent of praise and gifts showered upon her, and except for one night, no time with Andréa.

The one night they'd had during Fashion Week had been, well, mind-blowing to say the least. Andréa's was the last show of the day, and it was, as all her previous had been, a huge success. No doubt she'd be requested for interviews and magazine spreads. No one knew it yet, but _Runway_ would have the first interview, and the first spread. Miranda smiled as she imagined the shock of the publishing world when that issue hit the stands. For some reason they always seemed to underestimate her.

Miranda thought back to that night though, they'd returned to Andréa's suite and she'd been absolutely ravaged by the younger woman. They had lain in bed after, exhausted, Andréa stroking her back, her head resting softly on the younger woman's stomach.

"_How's the piece going?" _

"_Hmm?"_

"_The interview… the one you insisted on doing?" An amused tint to her voice let Miranda know what the other woman was really thinking. _

"_Oh, yes. Well, you know."_

"_Coming along and all that?"_

"_All of that, yes."_

That's all they spoke of that night, and in the morning they left for the next round of shows. And in two days Andréa would leave New York.

Miranda knocked, a huge weight pressing down upon her. Andréa didn't say anything as she led Miranda into the living room, and they both sat down on one of the couches.

"Should I offer you something to drink?"

Miranda almost smiled at that. "We should talk about it."

"Is there even much to talk about?" Andréa's answer surprised Miranda, and she took a good, long look at the younger woman. What she saw took her aback, because Andréa knew what she was going to say, and she was, it seemed, not going to argue. Miranda had come here expecting a fight, but Andréa had done what she always did, and took Miranda by surprise.

Miranda took Andréa's hand. "I _do_ love you."

"I know," she smiled in a small way. "But you're married to a good man, and I won't leave my job for you."

"Nor would I leave mine for you."

Andréa inclined her head, "As it should be."

"How do you know me?" Miranda whispered, almost in wonderment.

"The same way you know me, I suppose."

"It's cruel, this much love."

"Yes." Andy nodded. Tears slipped down both their cheeks. Miranda stood up without another word, her hand slipping from Andy's, and walked out the door. She cried in the car on the way home.

* * *

"Bloody hell, I can't take it anymore," cried Emily, doing her best to slam the door of Nigel's office.

"What's the problem now?" Nigel asked, tone bored. For the last seven months Emily had come storming in a few times every couple of weeks exclaiming that she'd "had enough" and "couldn't do it anymore." Invariably, she always did continue on in whatever it was she apparently couldn't handle, but Nigel enjoyed these little chats if for nothing else than entertainment.

"Miranda, of course. She's been just impossible since coming back from London. I'd had thought that the shows would have calmed her down a bit, but she's just been worse. Especially since the issue featuring Eliza came out. I mean, god! She's been dying to find her for the last five - six years? And when she finally gets a spread _and_ interview out of that woman, she can't even have the decent courtesy to look happy about it!" Emily was flailing her arms about now, but Nigel was very aware of the fact that she was still having trouble thinking about Andy Sachs and Eliza Elisabeth in the same terms. But it wasn't his problem.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Nigel rolled his eyes. "_Say_ something to her?"

"Yes!" Emily cried, "I would bloody well love it if you said something to her!"

Nigel rolled his eyes again and shook his head slightly. "Maybe. Now get out, I'm busy."

_Dear God,_ he thought,_ Miranda really needs to get it together. It's been seven months for crying out loud._

* * *

Miranda sat in her study on the couch, the door closed, the lights all off save one. On the table in front of her was her laptop and the issue of _Runway_ featuring Andréa, and in her lap was the book of poetry Andréa had pulled off the shelf that night.

_That _night. Miranda was still unsure that she'd made the right decision. She'd go back and forth in her mind, because was all that pleasure worth so much pain? It had been seven months and still she found it hard to face what she'd lost.

The girls had noticed, too, although they were now off in college.

"_Hey mom, you know Andrea Sachs?"_

"_Yes, sweetheart what about her?"_

"_Didn't she used to be your assistant? Andy? Cassidy and I remembered the other day when you had your assistant get us the Harry Potter book – she said her name was Andy Sachs, and well, she looks a lot like Andrea…"_

"_Yes, she was my assistant."_

"_Oh."_

"_What is it?"_

"_We heard she left you in Paris."_

Miranda shucked off her glasses, resting her hand over her eyes. Tightening her hold on the poetry book, she let silent tears slowly fall. _This is too hard._ Miranda thought maybe she understood some of those famous poets, now, because this kind of love, the kind people write poetry about, it hurt. Like an ache that spread from heart to lungs to belly to feet; borne within her and her lover, exchanging pieces of self between them. When together, the ache, while present, is warm, wrapping its tentacles around the two and keeping them safe, but when apart it's a blinding pain - and this must be, Miranda thought, why they were all so miserable.

Hearing her laptop ping Miranda opened her eyes, checking the new email. It was from Nigel, who, instead of sending her the new layout had sent her a link to a fashion gossip blog. _Might as well,_ she thought.

It's an article about Andréa, of course – she should have known. The headline reads _A New Dragon Emerges,_ and underneath: _Andrea Sachs, designer behind the line Eliza Elisabeth, has been spotted throughout the streets of Paris these last few weeks. Notorious for shutting herself in (or at least doing an expert job of avoiding the paparazzi), Sachs, it would seem, has come out to play. Most notable, however, are her large Chanel sunglasses – she's yet to be photographed without them. After her article in _Runway _a month ago, it leaves us wondering, is Andrea the new Miranda? Are we looking at a new Dragon Queen? Wonder what La Priestly thinks of all this…_

Miranda shut her laptop after finishing the article, although she didn't think it deserved even that title. Sighing, Miranda leaned her head back against the couch, closing her eyes.

Sometime later she's shaken awake. "Miranda?"

Blinking slowly, she sits up, seeing Lucas leaning over her. "Lucas."

He moves away to the other couch, taking a seat. "I was wondering when you were coming to bed."

She's fully awake now, and slightly defensive. "You know I'm very busy."

He puts up a hand, "I'm not mad, Miranda, just worried."

"Whatever for?"

"You've been, I don't know," he shrugs, "sad."

"Oh."

"I don't – I don't know what to do to help."

"There's nothing to do." She shrugs it off as if it's nothing.

"There must be something, Miranda. You've been like this for months and… I only want to help."

And goddamn him, because he really is a good man. "There's nothing, Lucas. You can't help it, I can't help it. Just let it be."

He sighs then, rubbing his palm across his jaw. "You don't love me."

"I –"

"No, no." He waves her off. "It's okay. I knew it when I married you, I just thought that maybe I could make you happy. I thought that maybe, even though we weren't in love, we could be happy together; content."

"Lucas –"

"But I don't think you want contentment." He looks at her then, questioning.

"No," she whispers.

He nods slowly, "I didn't think so."

"What do you want?" She's almost afraid of the answer.

"I want my first wife back," he cracks a smile. "What do you want?"

"I won't ask you for a divorce."

"That's not what I asked, Miranda. What do you want?"

And in a moment of weakness she answers him, "I want marriage to mean something again."

"Like the first time? When you thought it would be the last?"

"Yes."

"Me too."

They look at each other, taking everything in. They don't love each other, but there is a warmth there, a friendship, almost, and most certainly understanding. "Is there someone else?" He asks.

"Not anymore." Her voice is gravelly.

"Why not?"

"I'm married. It could never have lasted."

"It could never have lasted because we're married?" He looked confused, and Miranda could practically kiss him for that, because his first thought wasn't that she'd cheated on him, his first thought was _why aren't you still together? _Almost like he expected her to find someone with whom she could be 'not just content.'

"It could never have lasted because it could never have lasted," she huffs. "We're not good for each other."

"Do you drive him crazy?" She can tell he's partially joking by the way he smiles.

"It's a woman."

He rolls his eyes, "Fine. Do you drive _her_ crazy?"

She just stares at him for a moment, before saying softly, "No. For reasons I cannot fathom, no."

"Then why are the two of you doomed to fail?" He asks, the question genuine.

"Sometimes love isn't supposed to last a lifetime. Sometimes you're supposed to love, and then let go." She's speaking quietly now, as if explaining it to herself.

"And sometimes, Miranda, sometimes you're wrong."

"Not often," she whispers.

"And if you are?"

"It doesn't change the fact that we're married. It doesn't change my job, or her job, or where we live," she was growing increasingly louder. "Let it drop, Lucas."

"We don't make each other happy, Miranda."

"What do you want me to say to that?" She bit out.

"Five weeks ago I had my lawyer draw up divorce papers."

"Excuse me?" The shock was evident in her voice.

"We both take what we came into this with, plain and simple."

"Lucas –"

"I can't watch you like this anymore," He says softly. "You broke, somewhere along the way, and I can't fix it. The only thing I can give you is your freedom, because I know you won't ask for a divorce this time." He pulls out a folder from his jacket pocket. "Here they are." He stands. "You can wait and have your lawyers look them over, or you can trust that I'm trying to make this as painless as possible. I've already signed."

As he's walking out he hears a small "Thank you," and thinks that it's shame people can't see Miranda for who she really is.

* * *

_To be continued... review and let me know what you think so far. Are Andy and Miranda in need of a happily ever after? Or do the people want a little more angst?_


	14. Chapter 14

_Enjoy, my friends..._

* * *

Andy numbly thumbed through the pages of – what she refers to as - _her_ issue of _Runway_. Monica had brought a copy to the studio for her as soon as it had hit the stands, and Andy had studiously ignored it for a week. When she finally took it home, she couldn't bear to open it, and so it had lain next to her chair for another few days. When she finally had the courage to crack it open, she couldn't stop. It was as if the magazine was her life-source, and she read Miranda's words over and over, her heart breaking each time she realized just how deeply the editor knew her, and she wondered if other people would be able to tell.

Yesterday, in a fit of rage, she'd torn the magazine into hundreds of pieces, and as they scattered over her floor Andy felt an acute pain. Seven months was a long time. A lifetime was longer, though, and Andy didn't know if she quite had it in her.

She woke up the next morning and instantly regretted her actions, so here she was now, back in her apartment, flipping through a new copy of the old issue. She had to admit, the spread was beautiful. She'd ultimately decided to let Miranda use her collection from New York Fashion Week, and, as promised, she'd done it justice. She'd done it beyond justice, if that was a thing.

Last week Monica had brought some gossip-infused-fashion blog to her attention, as they'd put up some paparazzi photos of her. It wasn't until she'd read the accompanying article that she'd even been aware that her large Chanel sunglasses resembled Miranda's. But it made sense, nonetheless. If Miranda had taught her anything, it was how to stay hidden as a public figure, and not letting them see your eyes was, in Andy's opinion, a big part of that. She supposed it was a good thing they couldn't see her eyes, for surely they would pick up on the sadness that was just under the surface.

She had taken great pains to avoid Miranda during the London shows, arriving a day before her own show and leaving a day after. She suspected Miranda would not have sought her out though. There was a mutual understanding between them, though unspoken, that while they may love each other – and Andy had no doubt about that – they would not be together. In another life, maybe, but not this one, no matter how much it hurt.

The ringing of her phone brought Andy out of her thoughts.

"Hello?"

"_Andrea?"_

"Yes – who is this?" She was in no mood.

"_Yes, well, it's Emily."_

"Charlton?"

"_Who else would it be?"_ Andy could tell the Brit hadn't changed at all.

"Emily is a common name," Andy rolled her eyes.

"_I suppose. Well, it is me… Emily, that is."_

"Yeah, Em, I got that. Why are you calling me?" She sighed, too tired for this.

"_Just to say… congratulations, I suppose… on your… work."_ Andy thought she sounded almost pained at having to put those words into a sentence aimed at her.

"Thank you," Andy sighed again. "Why did you really call?"

"_What – fine,"_ she heard Emily huff. _"Fine. I'm not – I'm not supposed to be calling."_

"What does that mean?"

"_Rather, what I'm calling about is really off-limits, but Andrea, seriously, I'm at my wits-end!"_

"Get to the point, Em," there was only so much of this she could take.

"_It's Miranda."_ Of course it was.

"I don't think –"

"_No, no! You _must_ help me!"_

"Do you even still work for her?"

"_Not as her assistant, but, well, you know."_

"You never stop working for Miranda."

"_Yes. Well. She's been absolutely miserable since the New York shows."_

"Why are you calling me?" There was no way Emily knew of their involvement, was there?

"_Now, I realize that this is going to sound rather idiotic, but…"_ she hesitated, but Andy waited her out, wanting to know what she was going to say with intervening. "_You just – well when you worked for her, you always knew her the best. So, what do I do? What did you do when she was unhappy?"_

_I smiled at her._ "I got her coffee extra hot – I don't know, Emily, just maybe try not to screw up too much." Andy covered her forehead with her hand, closing her eyes. This was too much.

"_Andrea. Andrea. I need real advice. Please."_ _Goddamnit,_ thought Andy, _I can't not do anything, not if she's this unhappy._ A small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she, too, was this unhappy.

"Alright, alright. I'll send you something for her."

She heard a sigh released on the other end of the line, _"Thank god. Thank you, Andrea, really,"_ a pause. _"And congratulations on your line."_ She sounded sincere this time, at least.

"Thanks Emily," she paused. "Good luck," and hung up.

* * *

Four days later Miranda walked into her office to find a framed cover of the first edition of _Runway_ that she'd edited. She smiled, and for the rest of the day, she was 'not mean.'

* * *

A month later Andy woke up in a most unpleasant fashion, as she fell from her stool onto the floor below. She was in her studio, working, as always. The lights had been turned off long ago as everyone had left, and there was an empty bowl of soup sitting on the little side table a few feet away.

Shivering, she found her way to the storage closet and pulled out a large blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders. Making her way to the back office, she flicked on the lights and started the coffee machine, turning on the television for background noise. Of course, Monica had it set it one of the US channels – E News – fantastic.

It was just wrapping up a segment on the Emmys, when Andy noticed one of her designs flash across the screen. It was Fashion Police – _was that right?_ – talking about one of the stars of some TV show, a star that was wearing one of her gowns.

She turned up the volume.

"_Well the color, of course, is exactly what it should be, but you know, it always is with Eliza."_

"_I know! But aside from color – I mean just _look_ at that stitching! The design is exquisite!"_

"_But is it too old for her, do you think? Is she trying just a little too hard?"_

"_Nonsense! I like it when the girls dress up – makes me feel young again!" _

She put it on mute. At least they hadn't been trashing her dress. Turning towards the coffee maker she took out a mug, filled it, then added some milk. She was about to turn off the television when she saw an image of Miranda on screen.

_Don't do it._ She couldn't help herself.

"_You know the Dragon Lady is always dressed to impress – I don't think she's worn one controversial outfit in her entire career until now."_

"_I have to agree with you there, Joan. I've always admired how Miranda stays classic with her formal wear – nothing too flashy or overstated. But this, I mean, what a risk!"_

"_But can I just say, she pulls it off wonderfully?"_

"_Do you really think so?"_

"_Yes! Who would have thought that we'd ever see the Ice Queen in a salmon-colored evening gown? And one from a designer so young?"_

"_Well I agree with you that the color's quite unusual for her – but I have to say, after that article she wrote – I mean she's clearly setting this designer up for success."_

"_Did you know that Andrea Sachs used to be her assistant?"_

"_No!"_

"_I know! After all the rumors about what her assistants go through it's a wonder Miranda's promoting her."_

Andy pressed the power button, she couldn't listen to this anymore. Miranda had worn one of her gowns to some benefit last night, and she'd looked breathtaking. There was no other way to describe it, no way to get around it, so she didn't try.

Later that afternoon, as the hole in her chest widened just that much more, Andy stood up, and without thinking too much about it, threw a few pairs of clothes in her Louis Vuitton duffle bag. Grabbing her passport she flung the door open to reveal Miranda Priestly herself, knuckles poised to knock, an expression of shock on her face.

* * *

_Well, we're nearing the end now... _

_Reviews are lovely and beautiful _


	15. Chapter 15

_**This chapter is rated M** - if you're uncomfortable with that, please skip over the first section._

_Well, here it is, friends - the last chapter. A HUGE thank you to everyone who has reviewed - it makes writing so much better when you know people are eager for more. _

_I hope I did it justice - let me know what you think. _

_Enjoy_

* * *

"Miranda," Andy exhaled, dropping her bag to the ground. Was she hallucinating? Was Miranda Priestly really standing just outside her door? And if she was, well, _why_?

"Going somewhere?" Miranda questioned, a frown taking form on her face.

Andy slowly shook her head, still in a daze. "Not, uh – not anymore," she let out a small, nervous laugh. "Are you really here?" Miranda didn't answer, instead choosing to raise an eyebrow as if to say, _does it look like I'm really here?_ "Sorry, I just… haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Neither have I," Miranda supplied, "Not for seven months now."

"Oh really?" Andy half-snorted, "What happened seven months ago?" There was no smile on her face.

Miranda didn't move for a few moments, letting them stew in the silence that pervaded the hallway. Then, slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet Andy's, and spoke softly_._ "I found the person I'm going to love for the rest of my life, and I let her go," Andy could see tears forming in the corners of the older woman's eyes. "You've broken me, you see," her voice was hoarse and thick with tears. "Because seven months ago I would never have dreamed of waking up in the middle of the night, packing a bag, and going to the airport. Seven months ago I would have said that aside from my girls, _Runway_ was the thing that meant the most to me. But last night I got up and packed a bag and here I am," her voice broke, and thick tears made their way slowly down her cheeks, "And I would follow you to the ends of the Earth if you asked it of me."

Andy hastily wiped a tear from under her eye and said, "And if I didn't?"

"I would follow you anyway." Miranda made no move to stop the tears that were falling freely from her eyes now, and Andy just stood there, because surely Miranda didn't just say what she thought she said. "Where were you going?" She asked suddenly, motioning to Andy's forgotten bag.

Andy looked down at the bag and then back up at the woman whom she would never ask anything of, but who seemed to be offering her the world. "To wherever you were," she answered simply.

Miranda reached out then, pulling the younger woman in for a searing kiss. Andy walked them back into her apartment, which was lit only by the soft, warm light of the afternoon sun after a day of rain.

When they reached the large table in the middle of the room, Andy shoved everything off it – every sketch, every scrap of fabric, every forgotten pencil made their way to the hardwood floors with a flutter. Flipping them around, Andy unbuttoned Miranda's slacks and pushed them down with her panties before lifting her onto the table.

When Miranda reached for Andy's blouse she shoved her hands away with a gruff, "Later," after which Miranda was content to wrap her arms around her lover's neck and mark her under her ear.

Andy worked off Miranda's sweater, blouse, and bra until the other woman was sitting on the table in front of her completely nude. Stepping in between Miranda's legs, Andy ran her hands over the older woman's stomach, stopping at her breasts, which she fondled gently until she took a nipple in her mouth and bit down. Miranda hissed and Andy laved it gently with her tongue, moaning as she did so.

Miranda gripped Andy's shoulders tightly as the younger woman repeated her actions on Miranda's other breast. She then pushed Miranda back so she was lying on the table and Andy loomed over her, going back to the other woman's chest, this time leaving her mark under the left breast. Miranda gasped, wrapping her legs around her lover's back and pulling her flush with her heat, which Andy could feel through her blouse.

"Please," Miranda groaned. Andy hummed at this and started licking her way down Miranda's torso, murmuring sweet nothings as she went, making the older woman feel loved like she never had been before.

Tears once again made their way down Miranda's cheeks, and she pulled Andy back up to her, kissing her passionately. "I love you," she whispered, her lips brushing against Andy's, "I do. I love you." More tears slipped out of her eyes, "Make love to me."

Andy centered her fingers and plunged them deep into her lover, taking a slow and steady pace. She never kept her lips very far from Miranda's, going back and forth between her collarbone, her neck, and her lips.

Andy could feel when Miranda's climax was near and picked up the pace, circling her clit with varying pressure. As Miranda rode her fingers she flung her arms up above her to hold onto the edge of the table, and suddenly she was crying out, her body going rigid.

Andy didn't even have time to ease her fingers out of her lover's center before they were being ripped out as Miranda shoved her around the other side of the table, shedding her clothes for her as they went. In no time at all Andy was sitting in her favorite leather chair in nothing but her panties, which Miranda ripped off as soon as she sat down.

Before Andy had regained her senses, Miranda was kneeling in front of her, lifting her legs over her shoulders, her tongue going flat against the younger woman's center. Andy cried out, grasping with one hand the arm of the chair while the other went into soft silver hair.

Miranda plunged her tongue into the other woman's heat, pumping her tongue in and out in a frantic rhythm, making Andy writhe and moan loudly. When Miranda plunged two fingers into her center and started using her tongue on the other woman's clit, all Andy could manage to say was _oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,_ until she finally climaxed with a scream.

* * *

"You can't give up _Runway." _They were lying in bed, Andy draped half across Miranda's body, the older woman tracing a lazy pattern onto her lover's bare back.

"Hmm?"

"I can't have you give up _Runway_ for me."

"That's not your decision to make." Miranda continued to trace her patterns, not sounding the least bit concerned.

"Take this seriously, Miranda," Andy admonished, pushing herself up onto her elbows.

"I am, darling, more than you know," Miranda brought her hand up to Andy's cheek. "If staying at _Runway_ means I lose you, well – that's just not acceptable." She spoke softly but firmly, stroking Andy's bottom lip with her thumb. There was no arguing with her this way, Andy knew, and she lay back down with a sigh.

* * *

_Two weeks later_

"Nigel's here for you, Miranda," she heard her assistant say. Not bothering to turn her chair around Miranda knew the girl was still standing there – she could smell the fear.

"Was there something you _needed?"_ She heard the girl give a little croak and then scurry off with a rushed _no, Miranda._

"Still terrorizing the poor thing?" drawled Nigel. Miranda turned around for him – after all, she didn't find him unimaginably annoying.

"Well? Why not?" She smirked.

"Indeed," Nigel adjusted his glasses and sat down in front of her desk. "I'm here to talk about the thing you don't want to talk about."

"Oh?" Miranda knew exactly what he was referring to. Andréa. Miranda had been back in New York for a week and a half now, and Andréa was still in Paris. However, Miranda soon planned to join the younger woman – after all, she had made it very clear that she valued the other woman more than _Runway,_ and was prepared to give it up if that's what it took. She would do whatever was required, because if a week and a half was already started to gnaw away at her heart, how could it possibly take any serious length of time? How did she possibly manage seven months?

"There are rumors of your resignation," Nigel tipped his head to the side. "I would have said that possibility was, well, impossible, but you've been different lately."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Care to share?"

Nigel sighed and leaned back in his chair, clearly comfortable enough with the situation as it was. He could see though, that Miranda most certainly was not. "I won't presume to know what happened between the two of you, but I know that your being "sick" last week had everything to do with being in Paris and nothing to do with the flu."

Miranda glared at him, "But you won't _presume?"_

Nigel chuckled at that. "I won't presume out loud."

Miranda rolled her eyes, and thought that probably his mental presumptions were right on the money. Nigel always had been perceptive, and he'd known her for a long time. She sighed, "I'm not doing this for her."

He shook his head, smiling slightly. "Of course you are. Miranda, the actions you take are calculated and enacted only if they benefit you or the girls. But this? Resign and move to Paris? That doesn't help you; it doesn't help the girls. It helps Andy, and only Andy," he smiled again. "I never thought I'd see the day."

Miranda leaned back in her chair. "It's the logical choice to make."

Nigel chuckled. "Are you trying to _rationalize_ love?"

"I thought you weren't going to presume out loud?"

"So fire me."

She huffed, rolled her eyes, and then spoke softly, opting for honesty with this man who'd she'd known for over twenty years. "The thing is, I can't seem to breathe without her," she paused as if to say something else, then shook her head. "I'll be giving Irving notice next week."

"I can't imagine Andy's very happy about this," he raised an eyebrow and she pursed her lips – _What do you think?_

* * *

_One week later_

Andy bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, trying to expel some of the nervous energy as she waited for the elevator. Nigel had called her yesterday afternoon to inform her that Miranda would be giving Irv her resignation today. Apparently he'd been apprehensive about the course of action to take in informing her, which was why she was she was on such a tight schedule.

However grateful she was that Nigel had indeed decided to tell her, she was getting increasingly angry over the fact that she and Miranda had talked about this – at length – and decided not to make any rash moves. This she would consider a rash move.

Hearing the _ping_ of the approaching elevator, Andy tried to calm herself – no good looking like she was going to pee her pants. As the silver doors opened and the hallway filled with people, Andy made her way forward, suddenly hearing loud whispers ripple through the throng.

"No _way,_" the voice was horribly high-pitched, and Andy felt someone sidle up next to her. She imagined that if she weren't wearing her now-signature sunglasses she would have been in for an arm-tug as well. "Sorry, but, you're Andrea Sachs right?"

She smiled tentatively. "Yeah."

"Oh my god," the girl was flapping her arms around a little too much for Andy's liking. "I am like, such a huge fan. You don't even know. Is it true you worked for _Miranda Priestly?_" She whispered Miranda's name, as if saying it out loud would inevitably lead to experiencing the woman's wrath.

"Yeah, uh, I did," to say Andy was hugely confounded by this conversation was an understatement. No one on the street had ever approached her because of her work. "I have a, uh, meeting I need to get to, so if you'll excuse me," she said, starting once again for the elevator. _Now I know why Miranda likes these things so much._

As the elevator ascended, Andy thought about what she was going to say, and not for the first time, she came up blank. The doors slid open just then to reveal Miranda herself.

"Andréa?"

"Miranda," she smiled tentatively. "We seem to be making a habit of this."

"Indeed. Why are you here?"

"Maybe we should do this in your office," Andy supplied, not wanting them to make a spectacle of themselves.

"I have a meeting to get to."

Andy shook her head. "I know where you're going, and it's not happening. Let's go to your office."

The people who "weren't watching" this scene unfold were more than a little surprised to see Miranda Priestly agree without argument.

* * *

Miranda let Andy into her office first, ignoring the odd looks from her assistants as she shut the doors. She rounded on the other woman as soon as they were closed.

"What in the world are you doing?"

"Exactly what you think I'm doing." Her voice was neutral as she made her way over to the large window, staring out at the city, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Andréa…" Miranda's tone was soft and pleading.

"Miranda," she didn't turn around. "You love this city. You find inspiration at every corner and in every shop window, and you love the seasons and the thrill of an impending hurricane; you even love the traffic." Miranda could hear the smile tug at her lips. "The thing is, I love it too."

Andy turned around to find Miranda standing still in the middle of her office, arms limp at her side. "I'm willing to do this." _For you._

"I know," she smiled. "And I love you for it, believe me I do. But if staying in Paris means you can't do what you love – well, that's unacceptable. I can do what I love from anywhere."

"So what," Miranda's voice was thick with tears, "You'll move back here? Just like that?"

Andy shrugged, "I already rented out a studio space in the east village."

"Did you now?" It came out as a whisper.

"I figured Paris really only needs me a month or two out of the year – just enough to make sure everything's running smoothly."

"Is that what you figured?" They stepped closer to each other, Miranda reaching out to take one of Andy's hands.

"We could keep doing this thing we've been doing, where we magnify every difficulty ten-fold, but it's painful, and it's exhausting, and all I want to do is sleep in your bed tonight."

Miranda swallowed thickly, "Well, you should have said something earlier."

"I guess I just really like last-minute travel arrangements." They both laughed softly.

"So we'll just go for the uncomplicated, then? Just like that?" Miranda rested her forehead against her lover's.

"I think maybe that's how it's supposed to go." Their lips brushed together.

"In the end, you mean?"

Andy laughed softly. "My dear," she drawled, "this is only the beginning."

* * *

**_FIN._**


End file.
